


Memories Returned

by lilyseyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Severitus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 133,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyseyes/pseuds/lilyseyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Title:</b> Memories Returned<br/><b>Chapter:</b> 1/?<br/><b>Characters:</b> Harry, Severus<br/><b>Genre(s):</b> Gen, angst/tragedy, drama, AU (Spoilers for books 1-5, not HBP-compliant)<br/><b>Rating/Warnings:</b> PG, some violence and adult language<br/><b>Summary:</b> Harry exchanges mail with Professor Snape, until they both get a letter that is totally unexpected. My attempt at a Severitus Challenge.<br/><b>Disclaimer:</b> The Potterverse is owned by JK Rowling, this fan writing is for entertainment purposes only - no money is made from these works.<br/><b>Beta: </b>irisgirl12000<br/>***This story was originally started in in early 2005 and derailed with the release of Book 7 - I am reposting and will be working on continuing it now</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Mail

* * *

The last of the thestral-drawn carriages had disappeared down the lane towards the Hogsmeade Station before Severus Snape pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully towards the dungeons. Two whole months of peace and quiet, he thought wearily, robes billowing behind him. The Potions master ran down a mental list of everything he wanted to accomplish during the summer months. The Wolfsbane Potion for Lupin needed to be started, as did the experimental potion he was working to perfect as a counter for the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Medicinal potions for the hospital wing could be put off until later in August, Poppy should have enough in her stores until then. The most important thing on his agenda, aside from a sudden summons from the Dark Lord, was the Potter brat and their failed Occlumency lessons.

Since the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries a week and a half ago, the boy had become pale and withdrawn, missing more meals than he could afford. Severus pinched the bridge of his aristocratic nose as he swept into his office. Just the sight of the desk reminded him of how he had felt the day that he returned to find the brat immersed in his Pensieve, and the blinding rage that had followed. It still had the power to infuriate him, although he knew that Potter had kept his word and never spoken of it. The Headmaster had confirmed this when he had called Severus to his office a week ago, telling him sadly about the violent confrontation with the young Gryffindor after the ill-fated battle. Why Albus had burdened the boy with the full Prophecy, Severus still could not fathom, but it was no wonder he appeared depressed.

Making his way to his private potions laboratory, Severus took off his black teaching robes, and tied on the dragon hide apron he used when handling potentially poisonous ingredients. Assembling the items he needed to start the Wolfsbane base, Severus began to methodically prepare them, an automatic motion that allowed his mind to wander. Emerald green eyes flashed through his mind, sparkling with humor and glowing with love, bringing with them thoughts of small hands patting his face and a warm place on a cold night. Severus shook his head to clear it, unsure where such a fragment of memory would come from, and bent to his work.

* * *

At breakfast two days later, the Potions master was surprised to see a snowy white owl soar toward him and land gracefully at the edge of the table. A parchment envelope was clamped in her beak, and amber eyes blinked at him somberly as the bird laid it down beside his plate. Severus handed the striking bird a piece of bacon before stroking a finger over her head. Hooting softly, the bird took off without waiting for a reply. Frowning, he turned the envelope over, not immediately recognizing the painstakingly neat script that spelled out his name. 

Envelope in hand, Severus made his way back to his private lab to check on the potions he started the day before. Assured that they were progressing as they should, he sat on a tall stool and opened the letter. A thick sheet of folded parchment was withdrawn, and Severus began to read:

> _Professor Snape,_
> 
> _I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for my actions during the last term. I sincerely hope that you will read this letter instead of throwing it away, and allow me a chance to explain._
> 
> _When I made the rash decision to look into your Pensieve, I believed that I would learn what secret the Headmaster was keeping from me. I had not intended to violate your privacy and should have immediately left, but when I found that your memory included my father and godfather, I foolishly stayed to watch. I have no excuse for my actions, other than I have no memories of my father, save the one of his death._
> 
> _In my desire to see what my father and his friends were like at my age, I followed and watched. To my great sadness, I discovered that both my father and my godfather were every vile thing you have every called them, that they were arrogant bullies who preyed on others in a gang. I, too, am the victim of bullies, in the form of my cousin Dudley and his gang, and now know that my own father was no better._
> 
> _I am truly sorry for my actions, and wish that I could make up for what you endured at the hands of James Potter and Sirius Black. I have never discussed what I saw with anyone but Professor Lupin and my godfather before his death, nor will I; you have my wizard’s oath on that._
> 
> _I am not sure what I can say that would persuade you to again instruct me Occlumency, but I desperately need to learn. I have obtained several books on the subject to study over the holidays, but know I will need help to accomplish this skill. I must learn, so that no one else is put in danger by my failures. In light of what I must accomplish, I beg of you to please resume our lessons._
> 
> _I am very sorry,_
> 
> _Harry Potter_

Severus reread the letter twice before he set it on the workbench in front of him. This was totally unexpected; he had not thought the impertinent brat capable of bending his stiff neck enough to apologize for his thoughtless actions. Potter’s letter was actually well written and even eloquent for a fifteen year old, particularly one who seemed to have every bit as much of the arrogance his father had possessed. He trailed a finger along the bottom edge of the parchment, studying the writing. It was Potter’s normally untidy scrawl, yet it appeared that he had gone to a lot of effort to make it neat. There were several splotches that marred the surface; most seemed readily identifiable as tears, but a smudge across the bottom left corner was reddish brown, and Severus frowned as he stared at it, knowing it was blood. Summoning a piece of parchment from his desk, the Potions master composed a response.

* * *

Harry Potter lay quietly on the bed in the room he occupied at the Dursley residence on Privet Drive, focusing on the pain that throbbed through him. In the five days since he had returned for the summer holidays, twice Dudley and his gang had jumped him; both times, he had been occupied by his chores and unprepared to defend himself. His Aunt Petunia had ignored his bloodied and bruised face, while Uncle Vernon sneered that it was too bad Harry didn’t know how to defend himself properly. They all knew he was not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts, and were aware that he would be expelled for certain if he tried to defend himself with it. Harry’s magic seemed to protect him from any direct attack by sending a shocking pulse through his skin, but his cousin continued to blind-side him, launching his assaults when Harry was down or turned away.

His uncle had been less than pleased by the threats made at King's Cross Station by his friends and members of the Order of the Phoenix when Harry arrived. Vernon had warned him of the retribution he would face if any of the ‘freaks’ showed up at Privet Drive. As punishment for daring to complain about his home life, as Vernon was sure Harry had done, he had been locked in his room since they arrived, only let out to do his chores and use the bathroom twice a day. It had quickly become the routine for Dudley and his friends to ambush Harry while he was doing the yard work in the afternoons. Since he had been unable to finish his chores in a timely fashion as a result, he had been allowed very little to eat. On top of that, the nightmares that occupied his sleeping hours tore at his very soul, and he had taken to staying up most of the night, napping for short periods of time before he woke trembling.

He started writing letters during the night, when he could sit and compose them carefully. His notes to Ron and Hermione were short and general, assuring them both that the muggles had been behaving themselves. After a great deal of soul-searching, Harry had spent an entire night composing and methodically writing a letter of apology to Professor Snape for having invaded his privacy by looking into his pensieve. Having reconciled his version of what had led to Sirius’ death with what Albus Dumbledore had told him Snape had done, he had to admit that the fault lay squarely on his own shoulders. Harry was striving to get past the blinding hatred he felt towards the Potions master. It had been his own actions that led to the termination of the Occlumency lessons, which directly resulted in his godfather being led to his death in the Department of Mysteries. He knew that the only way to protect his mind from Voldemort was to master Occlumency, and he knew Snape was the only person who could teach him.

The secret that Professor Dumbledore had kept from him now weighed heavily on his mind. The Prophecy said he was the only one who would be able to kill the evil wizard, to murder or be murdered and condemn the entire wizarding world to the darkness that Voldemort would bring. Harry had managed to escape from the evil wizard a half dozen times now, but it had been through sheer, dumb luck, as Professor McGonagall had phrased it, rather than any special skill or magical ability of Harry’s. Professor Dumbledore had told him that it was his capacity to love that had made it impossible for Voldemort to possess him at the Department of Mysteries, but he could not think how love was going to help him defeat the dark wizard.

Harry rubbed his hand across his forehead in response to his scar prickling and burning again. He had read through the first book on Occlumency, and at least felt he understood a bit more about clearing his mind. Contrary to the denials Snape had sneered at him, Harry knew that he could master Occlumency. He had to. Working on the theory put forth in the book, Harry concentrated on the pain he was feeling at the moment, blocking out any other stray thoughts, building a wall around them. He could visualize the gray stone of the barrier as he constructed it stone by stone. What he had not understood before was that part of shielding your mind meant there had to be surface thoughts to hide the deeper ones behind. 

The next morning dawned hot and sultry, the sky overcast and the air laden with moisture, making it sticky. Harry went through his morning routine, which include a quick use of the bathroom before cooking breakfast, and eating a piece of toast washed down with cold tea. He returned to his room for the afternoon as it was a weekend and he was not allowed to be seen out in the yard. A large tawny owl sailed through the bars on his window, a tight scroll of parchment tied to one leg. Quickly untying the roll, Harry took an owl treat from the bag near Hedwig’s cage and tossed it to the new arrival. With a thankful hoot and a drink of water, the bird perched next to Hedwig and watched as Harry unrolled the missive.

> _Mister Potter,_
> 
> _I am in receipt of your correspondence and acknowledge the need to continue the instruction you mentioned. I suggest close attention be paid to chapter sixteen of the text written by Simpleton, which may be the correct starting point for the continuation of your training._
> 
> _You will adhere to the strict guidelines set out by myself, if you wish to continue your remedial lessons._
> 
> _Professor Snape_

Harry read the letter through three times to make sure he understood it, and then allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Snape had agreed to continue teaching him Occlumency. Taking a roll of parchment, he wrote out a simple thank you note, following the Potions master’s lead and keeping it the content vague. The large owl allowed Harry to tie the scroll to his leg, and sped off through the open window. Harry reached for the textbook Snape had referred to and started reading.

* * *

The summer settled into a comfortable routine for Severus Snape, his research and experiments going well. The potions he made on a regular basis were done, as were several specialty potions that he made on the side for wealthy clients, who paid quite handsomely for the best. Not that money was something the wizard needed, having invented a number of the potions that were in demand by the wizarding world, including the recent developments he’d made to the Wolfsbane formula. That income and his teaching salary, combined with a sizable inheritance from his maternal grandmother, made him more than wealthy. 

Alone at the small table used by the staff during the summer, Severus looked up to see the snowy owl wing gracefully toward him and the Potions master had to bite back a smile. This was the fourth letter he’d received in the past two and a half weeks from the Gryffindor brat, all respectfully and intelligently written. Untying the scroll, he gave the owl a piece of sausage off his plate, and she hooted her thanks softly before taking off again. 

Scanning the short note, Severus nodded unconsciously as he read Potter’s description of his progress he was making using the practices the Potions master had suggested. This letter sounded less stilted than the previous ones had, but it, like the first letter, had a reddish brown smear on the bottom corner. Frowning, he examined the stain closely, knowing without a doubt that it was blood. It seemed odd that the brat’s correspondence would have blood smears on them, especially from a child who led Potter’s charmed life.

Striding back to his chambers in the cool dungeons, Severus decided he had time to compose a reply before his scheduled afternoon meeting with the Headmaster. His curiosity made him decide to ask the Gryffindor Golden Boy about the blood he had discovered. As he entered his sitting room, the Potions master stopped dead in his tracks. On his desk sat a parcel wrapped in parchment that was brown with age. Wand out, he stepped cautiously closer, staring his name written across the top in elegant handwriting. 

Muttering a revealing spell, and then a second, more obscure one, Severus decided the package was clean of any curses or hexes, but appeared to have a strong time-delay charm on it. The handwriting was vaguely familiar, and Severus carefully split the paper wrapping with the tip of a knife he kept in his desk. He watched as the paper fell away to reveal a small, stone pensieve magically sealed with a stasis barrier, with a folded piece of parchment sitting on top. His name was written across it in the same vaguely familiar, elegant script. Ever the consummate spy, he levitated the parchment to the desktop, checked it for dark spells or hexes, and gingerly unfolded it.

> _My dearest Severus,_
> 
> _If you are reading this, it means that James and I are dead, and Harry is alive, but not in your care. It also means that you believe that James is your worst enemy and have no idea why you are receiving this package. Please, Severus, before you do anything, retrieve your memories from the Pensieve. You should remember the spell to identify the contributor of the memories and will know these are indeed yours, placed in this stone basin by you on the 1st of September 1981. Once you have your memories back, the rest of my letter will appear._
> 
> _Lily Evans Potter_

The spell that Lily Potter referred to came unbidden to his mind, and he cast it over the stone basin. The runes along the edges of the basin glowed silver and the stasis barrier dissolved, confirming that the memories in the basin were his, put there by his own hand. Apprehension flooded through him as he reached out a shaky hand and grasped the edge of the Pensieve. Taking a deep breath, Severus Snape bent his head until his nose touched the shimmering silver surface and he was falling headlong into a swirl of color. Images flew past him, taking him back to his early childhood, scenes of playing with his cousin, James Potter.

Time flew by; memories replanted in his conscious mind, his cousin, attending Hogwarts, his struggle against his father’s wishes, and his best friend, Lily Evans. He saw again their graduation from school, James and Lily marrying and training as Aurors, and the hex that almost killed his Gryffindor cousin, the hex that rendered him sterile. Severus, by then already a spy for the Order to which they all belonged, brewing the Familial Fertility Potion with his own semen so that Lily could conceive, and sharing the resulting pregnancy with Lily and James. The birth of his son, the charms placed on him to make him look like his dad, to keep him safe from the monster to whom his papa was bound, the joy on the toddler’s face whenever his papa was able to visit.

Severus found himself on his knees in front of his desk, tears streaming down his face, as he remembered the drastic measures they had taken over fourteen years ago to safeguard the baby when the Prophecy became known. The sorrow he had felt all those years ago as he removed every fond memory of his cousin James, his friend Lily, and the son that the three of them had created, flooded through him and overwhelmed him with grief. It had been his own idea to remove the memories; James and Lily were going into hiding in response to Severus’ announcement that Voldemort was searching for baby Harry to kill him. It had seemed to be the only way to truly keep their son safe.

Using all of the strength he could muster, the Potions master crawled to the chair behind the desk and hauled himself into it. The replaced memories swirled in his mind, arranging and rearranging themselves into the proper order. He remembered the true relationship he had had with the Marauders; although he and Black always hated each other, Severus had been close to his cousin despite his propensity for ugly practical jokes. The strong friendship between him and Lily was the one memory she had insisted he keep, just as she has insisted the Pensieve would be time-sealed for him, in case something happened to her and James, so he could take care of Harry.

Harry. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Gryffindor Golden boy, was his son. Severus buried his face in his hands. During a Death Eater ambush, James had been cursed with a hex that destroyed his ability to father children, his punishment for daring to marry a mudblood devastating the young man and his wife. Searching through ancient potions books, Severus had found the Familial Fertility Potion, which took the freely given seed of a close male relative, and combined it with the blood of the father to produce a child who was truly a mixture of all three. James and Lily had agreed, and Harry was the result. Memories of the baby Lily had given birth to replayed in his mind, the raven haired imp had been charmed at birth to be a copy of his dad, with Severus’ part in the conception a closely guarded secret. Whenever he could, Severus had used James’ invisibility cloak to come visit the family, and Harry was always delighted to see his papa.

With trembling hands, Severus picked up the letter from Lily, and saw an entire new paragraph had appeared.

> _Dear Harry’s Papa,_
> 
> _I know you were adamantly against this idea, love, but I fear that something will happen and neither James nor I will be around to remind you of the truth, and who will tell Harry if we are gone? I truly fear that if Voldemort somehow kills us and Sirius is unable to take him, that Harry will end up with my sister and her husband. Please, Severus, don’t let this happen! My sister hates magic in any form, and I strongly suspect that they would be abusive to Harry if he were to be left in her care. If you are receiving this letter now, it means that our son is still alive, as the pensieve and this letter will vanish if one or the other of you is dead. You will remember that the charms we put on our son will wear off sometime around his sixteenth birthday if they are not renewed. Harry will be receiving a package too, a pensieve that holds my memories, and I hope that he seeks you out. If Harry has been told of the Prophecy, he will have the weight of the world on his shoulders, and will need someone to rely on, someone to care for and love him, Severus. I truly hope that you will take care of our baby, and tell him how much he was loved. Kiss him for me, Sev._
> 
> _Lily_

“Severus?” The concerned voice of Albus Dumbledore brought his head up as the older man stepped from the fireplace. “I have been calling you…”

The Headmaster trailed off, stunned to see tears streaming down the normally stoic face, his bright blue eyes taking in the small pensieve on the desk and the letter clutched tightly in the Potions master’s hand. He too had received a time-spelled letter from the Potters, and was concerned for both Harry and Severus. Laying a hand on the black-clad shoulder of the man he loved like a son, Albus carefully took the letter that was crumpled in a desperate hand and set it on the desk. When the younger man trembled, he turned and pulled the raven head to his chest, softly stroking the long hair.

“It will work out, Severus, I am certain. Harry has never wanted anything more than a family of his own, and I dare say the Dursleys have never treated him particularly well.”

Severus pulled back with a frown, wondering at the tone in his mentor’s voice. “Would there be cause to worry, Albus, if I told you I had received several letters from Harry that appear to have blood smears on them?”

* * *


	2. Privet Drive

* * *

Harry collapsed on the small bed in his room, his scar burning, his ribs aching, and his stomach churning. Dudley and Piers had caught him in the side yard, and had managed to slam a fist into his face and kick him viciously before his magic pulsed around him, driving them away. Aunt Petunia had taken one look at him and ordered him to his room without supper as punishment for his torn shirt and the trampled flowerbed. He waited until the locks clicked on his door before reaching underneath the loose floorboard for the last of his Honeydukes chocolate. 

Slowly savoring the smooth confection, Harry was licking his sticky fingers when a parcel on the spindly desk caught his eyes. Moving over to it, Harry saw that it was addressed to him in an elegant, somehow feminine script, his full name embellished with flourishes and swirls. Maybe it was an early birthday present, he thought, as he examined the aged parchment. Running a hand over the package, Harry could not feel any Dark magic in it, and using his wand, he pulled up one edge of the wrapping. The old parchment tore and Harry saw the package contained a small Pensieve that appeared to be covered by some type of protective shield, with a folded piece of parchment on top. Gingerly picking up the paper, he unfolded it to find a letter from his mother, and sat heavily on the desk chair before reading. Tears welled up as he ran a trembling finger over the greeting, the elegant writing blurring for a moment, and Harry blinked rapidly.

> _My beloved son,_
> 
> _If you are receiving this package, your dad and I are dead and you are approaching your sixteenth birthday. I can only hope that you are with your godfather, but my heart tells me that Sirius will also encounter trouble, and you are in the care of my sister, Petunia. If you are with Petunia and Vernon, I imagine your life has been terrible, and they have done all they could to keep you from our world. I hope that your Hogwarts letter reached you and you have been allowed to go to school. I will assume you are, and if not, depend on your papa to find you._
> 
> _This Pensieve contains my memories of how you were conceived and became our miracle baby, Harry. Touch the basin, the runes will recognize your magical signature and allow you to view my memories. Your dad and I love you very much, and I urged you to seek your papa, if you can do so safely._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Mum_

Harry stood at his desk, his injuries forgotten as he gingerly reached out to touch the stone basin. The runes glowed gold and shifted, the ward vanished, and he saw the surface of the silvery liquid shimmer invitingly. Pushing back the memories of the last time he had gone into a pensieve, Harry allowed his nose to touch the surface.

His mom, her emerald eyes sparkling as she held him, was talking into a mirror in his room, telling him how much she loved him. A swirl of color passed before his eyes; they were in a hospital being told they would never have children, and Harry almost cried out at the anguish. A visitor in the dead of night, battered and bloodied from a Death Eater meeting, and he gasped when he recognized the younger face of his Potions master, his injuries being cared for tenderly by his mom. He watched as the memories passed by, fertility potion, the true relationship between James Potter and Severus Snape, and his mom’s pregnancy. Harry felt like an intruder as he watched himself being born, but he laughed aloud when the two men both fainted as his infant self made his appearance. He watched as his mom and papa cast the charms that erased any resemblance to the taller man from his features. Baby Harry walking, clapping his hands in glee, being swept up in the arms of his papa, and being thrown in the air by his dad.

Gasping, Harry flashed on a memory of his own, a silky voice reading him a story as he was rocked, long fingers tickling his stomach. Memories swirled past: the Prophecy, Voldemort searching for them, and his papa’s desperate decision to have all him memories removed in order to protect the family he loved so much. The look in those dark eyes the last time he’d held the sleeping toddler, and the heartbreak of his mom and dad as they watched, knowing that a spy among their closest friends had brought them to this. 

Harry found himself kneeling on the floor of the small room allotted to him at Number 4 Privet Drive, his mind a whirl of old and new memories. The Potions master who hated his existence collided with the images of a young man he called papa. Overwhelmed, he slid to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

“Blood smears? Severus, what are you going on about?” Albus asked with a frown. 

Severus stood and leaned over his desk to retrieve the note he’d received from Harry that morning. As the Headmaster scanned it, he magically resealed the pensieve and refolded Lily’s note. Moving into the bathroom, the Potions master washed his face clean of any trace of his tears before rejoining Albus.

“Severus, I would like to know what you plan to do with the memories that have been restored to you today.”

“I am not certain I know what I want, Albus, and I won’t know until I have spoken to Harry. We are both still in as much danger, if not more than we were fifteen years ago, and to publicly claim him would comprise my position as a spy.”

The pale man paced the length of the room and back, before taking the note out of Dumbledore’s hand, his finger running over the reddish stain. He looked up with determination in his eyes.

“No matter what we decide to do, I want my…my son out of that house, Albus. Immediately.” 

The older wizard nodded in agreement, and gestured to Severus to follow him. Looking around his chambers, the dark haired man spotted the leather pouch he carried emergency potions in and slid it into the pocket of his summer robes. Double-checking that he had his wand, he followed the Headmaster to his office. Before leaving Dumbledore’s office, Severus transfigured his outer robes into a leather jacket, knowing that his black trousers and white shirt were acceptable apparel for muggles to see him in, but arched an eyebrow at the elderly wizard’s bright blue robes.

They Flooed to Arabella Figg’s, where Dumbledore placed a disillusionment charm on himself and accompanied Severus as he walked to the front door of the Dursley residence. The large, square house sat on a street of similar houses, all alike except for the color of the trim around the windows and doors. Flower beds, some simple and some, like those at Number Four, rather elaborate, bordered identical small patches of front lawn. It was a hot, sunny afternoon, and the black leather jacket he wore soaked up the heat, so Severus removed it, folding it neatly over his arm before knocking on the door. 

A tall, thin woman with a horse-like face opened the door, scowling at the interruption. 

“Yes? May I help you?”

Severus stared, unable to reconcile this woman with the memory of dark red hair, glowing green eyes, and a ready smile. “You are Petunia?” he asked in disbelief.

“Do I know you?” Petunia’s tone lightened just a bit, as she took in his neatly tailored clothing and obviously expensive jacket.

“I was a friend of your sister, Lily. I would like to see Harry, please.”

The woman reared back, her eyes widening and she immediately tried to slam the door shut as she stammered. “I don’t know who you are talking about…”

A murmured incantation and Albus Dumbledore appeared at his side; with a wave of his hand, the door flew open again. Dumbledore stepped into the foyer.

“Not good form that, Petunia,” he told her pleasantly, as Severus stepped in behind him.

The Potions master took in the sitting room on the right side of the entry hall; the walls were plastered with oddly still Muggle photographs of a humongous blond teenage boy, a large oil portrait over the hearth. Other pictures of an equally rotund man as well as the horse-faced woman decorated the walls, but there was not a single picture of Harry Potter. A short hallway led to what appeared to be the kitchen, and a stairway led up to the next floor. 

“Where is Harry, Petunia?” the Headmaster asked the trembling woman in a conversational tone. Severus scowled darkly, examining pictures and other decorations for a sign of his son.

“The little freak is upstairs in Dudley’s second bedroom, pathetic as usual!” the woman snapped. “He won’t be getting any supper either, the lazy boy didn’t finish his chores!”

Severus’ eyes widened as he listened to the venom spewing from the woman’s lips, knowing that Lily had been justified in her fears. He had been an idiot to think that the boy was spoiled and pampered; as he moved up the stairs, he couldn’t help but feel that he had a lot to atone for. At the top of the stairs was a door that had several locks. Curiously, the locks were arranged to secure the door from the outside, and there was a flap cut in the bottom of the door like those created to allow small animals in and out. His stomach churned.

“ _Alohomora_!”

The door opened to a small, dimly lit room. One wall was lined with shelves that appeared to be stacked with broken toys. A small, ugly bed stood under the lone, barred window, which even open, did little to cool the heat pooling in the room. A moan directed his attention to a figure on the floor. The Potions master moved swiftly into the room, dropping his jacket when his eyes took in the small Pensieve on the desk and the folded piece of parchment beside it. Kneeling, he rolled the teenager over, taking in the oversized and worn clothing, the bruises marring his face, and the blood dried on his temple.

“Harry!” 

A hand gripped his shoulder tightly and shook him, and Harry moaned as pain shot through his ribcage and chest. He pushed weakly against the hand, his head throbbing painfully, only to feel himself lifted into a sitting position and a glass vial pressed to his lips.

“Drink this, it will make you feel better.”

The deep, smooth voice was balm on his jagged nerves, soothing and making him feel safe. Liquid trickled into his mouth and a hand stroked his throat, encouraging him to swallow. The bitter taste of a healing potion made him scrunch up his face in distaste, and he heard a soft chuckle.

“Sweeteners made the potion ineffective, Mister Potter, as you well know. Now drink these, as well.”

Obediently, Harry swallowed several more potions, the last being a sickly sweet nutrient potion he remembered making in his third year at Hogwarts. By the time all of the potions had taken effect, Harry’s head had stopped pounding, allowing him to open his eyes at last and look at the dark figure that held him. From his position in his protector’s lap, with his head nestled against a broad chest, Harry stared into familiar obsidian eyes.

“Papa?” 

A spasm of pain passed over the man’s face, and Harry was crushed in a strong embrace; arms encircled Harry and he was rocked back and forth. Something broke loose inside him, and Harry started to cry. He was overwhelmed by sadness at the tragedy he had endured in his short life, the time he’d lost with the man who fathered him, the deaths of his parents before he’d ever had the chance to know them, and fresh grief at the loss of his godfather. Waves of anguish broke over him. He felt a hand move to rub his back in a reassuring manner, and still he cried, unable to stop. He could not remember ever being held or comforted like this, and he was unable to contain the long-suppressed emotions.

“Severus? Is he all right?” 

“It appears that he has been assaulted by more than one person and on more than one occasion. I need help with his shirt, Albus.”

“Dud…Dudley and his little friends didn’t mean to hurt the boy, they were just playing,” Petunia interjected quickly.

The woman was propelled out of the room by a wave of wandless magic, even as Severus lifted the still-sobbing teenager to his feet with the Headmaster’s assistance. Scooping the boy into his arms, he moved with Harry to the bed, shifting him to his lap so that Dumbledore could gently remove overlarge t-shirt. Both men gasped at the pattern of old and new injuries that littered Harry’s back. There was evidence of extensive bruising to the chest and abdomen, as well.

“Severus, we need to get him to Poppy immediately.”

The dark hair man struggled with the violent rage that threatened to overwhelm him, gingerly wrapping his leather jacket around his son’s thin shoulders. Throwing open the trunk at the end of the bed, Dumbledore packed all Harry’s belongs quickly, including those precious to the boy, which he found when the young wizard directed him to the loose floorboard under the bed. Harry’s sobs had quieted, but he had not released his death grip the front of Severus’ shirt.

“I don’t want to move him, Albus, can we portkey from here?”

The Headmaster nodded, pulling his wand out. “To the hospital wing, Severus?”

“My chambers, please. I want him with me.”

Harry closed his eyes, knowing the arms that held him firmly would take care of him and keep him safe. His body ached all over, yet his heart felt lighter than it had been in a long time. Tightening his grip, just in case Snape tried to escape, Harry tensed when his other hand was laid on a cool surface. There was a familiar tug behind his navel, and Harry lost consciousness as the world spun around him.

* * *


	3. Healing

* * *

Severus Snape laid his son down on the four-poster in the spare bedroom of his dungeon chambers at Hogwarts. They had portkeyed directly from the tiny room that Harry’s relatives had grudgingly allotted him in their spacious house in Surrey. The teenager had been beaten by his cousin Dudley and his gang earlier that day, along with being half-starved by the family for the nearly three weeks he’d been back from school. A time-spelled letter from his mum had brought him the news that he had a second father, one that was still alive, one who hated him. The Potions master brushed the fringe gently back from Harry’s forehead, tracing a finger down the lightning bolt scar that marred the perfect skin. No wonder the poor boy had collapsed in shock.

Severus sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the Headmaster to arrive with Madam Pomfrey. The thick wall he’d built around his heart, the cold façade he’d perfected, would take awhile to dissolve, and he would have to relearn how to be the carefree father that he might have been if they’d had a better alternative all those years ago. Their decision had robbed him of his most joyous memories and had made him hard and embittered. Add to that the way he had persecuted Harry since the day the boy had stepped foot into Hogwarts. He had treated Harry viciously, had been cruel and vindictive, but there had been something that had made him feel protective towards the boy, even while loathing him. 

Would Harry be able to look beyond the hatred and pain of the past? Would he want to acknowledge their relationship once he was healthy and whole? And healthy he would be, Severus thought with rage, no one would ever hurt or neglect his son again! Nor would anyone ever get the chance; whether or not Harry wanted their relationship, Severus planned to have the boy with him, where he could watch over him and protect him. 

“Severus!” Albus Dumbledore’s voice boomed through his chambers.

“We are in the spare bedroom, Albus.”

Poppy Pomfrey bustled in ahead of the elderly wizard, gasping at the bruises on Harry’s arms and face. Shooing Severus off the bed, she quickly removed every piece of clothing Harry wore, casting a cleaning spell over him to remove dirt and dried blood. The Potions master knew the teenager would be mortified if he knew the witch had stripped him naked, but it afforded him the chance to see the scars that marred the boy’s skin. Harry was much too thin to be healthy, with a wiry build and lean muscles, all covered by signs of violence. The mediwitch ran her wand over the boy’s head and torso before asking Severus to roll him over. The Potions master gently turned his son onto his stomach, only to be horrified and enraged by the bruising that went from his shoulders to his buttocks, in various stages of healing. Fear gripped his chest as his dark eyes darted from the bruising to Poppy.

“Poppy, was he…” he could not push the word out through his constricted throat.

“No, Severus, I don’t detect any signs of rape, but what is here is enough to send these Muggles to Azkaban! Two cracked ribs, a bruised tailbone, multiple contusions, and a mild concussion, along with trying to starving the poor child half to death!”

Severus breathed a sigh of relief before heading to his private lab to get the healing potions that Madam Pomfrey would require. He left her ranting and raving quietly about the way Harry had been mistreated, and about his obvious injuries. By the time the Potions master returned, she had begun to cast healing spells. Sliding behind the teenager, he carefully maneuvered him into a sitting position so that Poppy could administer Harry’s potions. He frowned; he could feel every bone in the slim form, and the flesh felt over-warm to his touch. Summoning a silk nightshirt from his wardrobe, they slid it over the teen’s head and tucked him under a light blanket.

“Those potions should keep Harry asleep for the next eight hours and give his body a chance to heal internally. The nutrient potion he took will help treat the malnutrition, but he when he wakes up, you will need to feed him something light, soup, scrambled eggs, or toast. Make sure you rub the ointment into the bruises along his ribs and on his back. I will be back in the morning to check on his progress.”

The older woman smiled at him softly and patted his arm. “Congratulations, Severus, you have a fine son.”

Severus glared at the Headmaster with one eyebrow arched questioningly as the witch swept out of the bedroom.

“Severus, as often as the two of you end up in the hospital wing, Poppy, of all people, needs to know about this development.” The elderly wizard peered over his half-moon spectacles at him, the blue eyes twinkling merrily.

“Neither of us will be very happy or safe if the Dark Lord finds out about our relationship, Albus. It was the fear of exposure and capture that led to the drastic actions we took all those years ago!”

“Calm yourself, Severus, I am well aware of that fact, and I do not intend on anyone else knowing this secret.” 

Leading the Headmaster back out to the sitting room, Severus left the door to Harry’s room ajar so that he could hear if he woke. Dropping wearily into a leather armchair, the Potions master buried his face in his hands, his hair creating a curtain around his anguish. His mind spun frantically, thinking of the many possible ways his son could reject him. A comforting hand came to rest on his shoulder, and a teacup was forced into his hands when Severus looked up as he met the shrewd blue gaze. The elderly wizard moved to sit on the couch, his eyes never leaving the too-pale face.

“What is it that you fear the most, dear boy?” Dumbledore asked kindly.

Pain pierced his heart, and he took a deep breath, “My worst fear is that Harry will not be able to get over my past treatment of him, and reject any relationship with me.”

“You underestimate Harry’s capacity to forgive and love, Severus. That night in the Department of Mysteries, it was the great love that filled Harry that prevented Voldemort taking over his mind and body. I have no doubt, Severus, that you will have times of misunderstanding and strife, but I believe I can safely say that Harry will come to love you more than you thought it possible to be loved before.”

Dumbledore set his teacup on the tray and stood. “I believe you will find, Severus, that he is much more afraid that you will reject him, than anything else.”

“Reject him?” The Potions master frowned at the thought.

“Are you forgetting so soon how those Muggles treated him? He has received precious little love in his young life, my friend, and you will have a hard time convincing him that he is worthy of it, I am afraid.”

With a final pat on the shoulder, the Headmaster left, leaving Severus deep in thought. Eventually, he got up and made his way into his own bedroom, where he changed out of the bloody shirt he wore, tugging on a light blue short-sleeved pullover and soft black trousers, leaving his feet bare. He washed his face in the sink in his bathroom, studying the pale face that looked back at him for a moment. Although there was nothing he could do with his prominent nose, he had finally had his crooked and yellowing teeth fixed, and was quite proud of the result. Such vanity, he thought with a sigh. Next thing he knew, he’d care enough about his appearance to wash the protective pomade he used out of his hair daily so that it did not appear greasy.

Picking up the latest technical journal he’d received, Severus made his way into his son’s room, and saw that Harry was still sleeping soundly. Settling into the chair next to the bed, he studied the boy’s face. If Lily’s estimate was right, Harry should have already begun to change, and the charm would wear off gradually during the two weeks prior to his sixteenth birthday. With just ten days remaining before that date, Severus could see that Harry’s face seemed thinner and a little more angular; his hair was still a wild nest, but it seemed to have lengthened. It dawned on the Potions master that he had never seen the teenager’s hair look any different than the wild mop that had been the bane of James’ existence. Harry was still rather short, the top of his head barely coming up to Severus’ chin. He wondered how much of his son’s stature was due to the charms Lily had placed, and how much was caused by the malnutrition inflicted on him during his formative years. 

A moan from the bed refocused his attention, and Severus moved swiftly to the bed when Harry began to scream and writhe. The Potions master could not even begin to imagine the nature of the nightmare that gripped his son, but did not hesitate to draw him into his lap and rock him back and forth, muttering soft words of comfort. When Harry stopped struggling, the older wizard positioned a pillow behind him and settled back, allowing the boy to rest against his chest comfortably. One arm encircled his waist to hold him secure, and Severus brought his other hand up to push the hair out of Harry’s face. Cupping his cheek, tracing the lines of his cheekbones and eyes with his thumb, Severus was startled when the emerald eyes suddenly opened and stared back at him with confusion.

“Pro…Professor?” 

The teen made a weak attempt to pull away, but Severus held fast, stroking his face softly, letting the memories find their way back to him. He could tell when the recollection of the afternoon made its way to the surface of Harry’s mind. Harry’s eyes widened and began to fill with tears, and his hand fisted in Snape’s shirtfront. Pulling his son tightly against his chest, Severus began to rock him again, one hand rubbing soft circles on Harry’s back as he cried. How long they that sat that way, the older man couldn’t say, but he continued to rock back and forth until Harry lifted his head and leaned back against his arms.

“Is…is it true, then? It wasn’t a…a dream?” Harry whispered, his eyes searching the face above him.

“Is what true, Harry?” The obsidian eyes seared his soul.

Harry took a breath, wanting so much for the lovely dream he’d had to be true. 

“That you are my papa?”

The arms around him crushed him to a lean, broad chest. He heard the Potions Master let out a breath he must have been holding before he felt a kiss pressed into his hair.

“Yes, it is true, all of it. Do you mind terribly?”

“No,” Harry said, burying his face in the thin shirt, “I think it’s brilliant, actually. I was just so afraid that you would still hate me, even after you remembered.”

A finger under his chin lifted his face so that their eyes met again; his professor seemed unaware of the tears that slid silently down his cheeks. 

“I don’t hate you, Harry, although I know I have been a right bastard to you. As soon as I had my memories back this afternoon, I recognized that I had inflicted all the bitterness I felt on you without really knowing why. I told myself that it was because I hated James, because my best friend had died protecting you, and I was reminded of her every time I looked into your eyes. I know now that some part of a memory remained, pushing me to love and protect you, and it frustrated me.”

The finger left his chin, and Harry could see the hand move toward his face. He was unable to stop the reflexive flinch as the hand moved to cup his face. His eyes darted up, expecting to see anger, but saw only sadness and understanding.

“I will never hurt you, Harry and will do everything in my power to keep anyone for ever hurting you again. I would like to try to work through the history between us, and I would like to be your papa.”

Leaning into the hand that carded through his hair, Harry closed his eyes against the tears he could feel well up. It had always been a dream of his, since his days of living in the cupboard under the stairs that his father was really alive, and would come rescue him and love him like this.

“I…I want that too, but I don’t know how.” Harry tried to bury his face again, only to have it gently but firmly stopped. “No one has ever loved me before, no one has every held me before like this, and only Hermione, Ginny, Missus Weasley, and Sirius have ever hugged me,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m not sure that I even know what it is like to be loved.” 

“Well then, perhaps we can learn together, Harry; in the meantime, you need to go back to sleep or Poppy with have my head.” 

The arms started to loosen, and Harry panicked, not ready to leave the warmth and security that made him feel safe. He clung desperately, not realizing that it was his whimper he was hearing. He was pulled back against the firm chest, and his papa began to rock him back and forth in a manner he found very comforting. Slowly he relaxed and loosened his grip, but did not completely release it, as he was unwilling to let the man escape. A laugh rumbled through the chest beneath his ear.

“I am not going anywhere, son, I promise. Would you like something to eat?”

“Yes, if it is not too much trouble.” Harry’s stomach growled in agreement.

“What is the name of that manic house-elf that likes you so much?”

Harry’s lips curved into a smile. “Dobby.”

“DOBBY!”

A diminutive house-elf with huge green eyes appeared beside the bed, and Harry could just make out his blurry form jumping up and down.

“Professor Snape called Dobby, sir…Master Harry Potter is here!! Harry Potter is a great wizard, and Dobby is happy to serve…”

“Dobby! Harry is hungry, but he has been without food for a while. He needs small portions of soft foods, scrambled eyes, porridge, and the like, perhaps a bit of his favorite pudding. I would like a chicken sandwich and tea, please.”

“Oh, yes, sir, Dobby is happy to serve!” 

With a pop, Dobby disappeared and Harry smiled as he heard his father mutter under his breath about insanity in house-elves. His breath hitched in his chest at the though. His father, a family of his own. Tears welled in his eyes again, but he willed them away. His bladder began to make its presence known, and Harry tried to sit up.

“I like you just where you are, actually, Harry,” came an amused drawl.

“I, um, have to go…”

Harry felt the older wizard pull away, but was immediately swept up in strong arms and taken through a door into an adjoining bathroom done in cream and gold. His myopic eyes made out a large shower and the toilet. He was set on his feet in front of it, and throwing a look over his shoulder, waited until the man left the room before taking care of business. 

“Pro…Papa?” Harry called out hesitantly, finding his legs shaky just from stepping to the sink to wash his hands.

Severus felt his heart skip a beat when he heard Harry call for him. Sweeping the boy back into his arms, he carried him back to the bed and settled him comfortably, tucking him under the blanket. Pulling Harry back against his chest, he was delighted when his son nestled against him. Dobby popped in with a tray of food, and Severus held it steady as Harry slowly ate his fill, almost falling asleep in his chocolate pudding. Calling the house-elf back to take the tray, the Potions master leaned the teenager forward so that he could rub ointment into the bruises on his back, and applied more to his chest and arms. 

“I’m going to give you a mild sleeping draught, Harry, and then you can lie down. I know we have a lot to talk about, but you need to heal first.”

Harry took the vial of light blue potion, a forlorn look on his face. “Will you stay with me tonight, Papa, please? I am afraid I will wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

There was no chance that Severus Snape would leave his son. He settled himself beside Harry, cradling his head to his chest. Harry drifted off into the first sleep he had without nightmares in months.

* * *


	4. Guilt and grief

* * *

Harry opened his eyes to a room shadowed in darkness, and he was momentarily disoriented by the large room and the unfamiliar feeling of being held. He lifted his head and looked around, only then realizing that his head had been pillowed on his Potions master’s chest. The arm holding him dropped away as Harry sat up. It took a moment for his brain to wake up, and for the events of the previous afternoon to catch up with him. A slow smile spread across his face as he looked down at the sleeping face of the man who had made his conception possible. With his mum and dad gone, Harry did not think James would mind if he called Snape his father. Lily would be delighted, if she were watching them from whatever realm they now occupied: she had gone to great lengths to ensure that they would be brought together.

Spotting his glasses on the bedside table, Harry slid them on before turning back to examine the face that was so familiar, but so different. Relaxed in sleep, the professor’s face looked much younger, more open, even approachable, Harry thought. The long black hair didn’t seem greasy, and he reached a finger out to stroke it. It was soft and silky, and he smiled because he thought his hair was changing, and might look like this, too. The memories in the Pensieve his mum had sent showed them casting an appearance charm on him when he was an infant. Maybe, Harry thought as he stroked the fine strands, he would grow taller as his birthday approached, as both his dad and his papa were tall.

His fingers continued to play with the strand of soft hair, and Harry, lost in his thoughts, didn’t see the onyx eyes open. It saddened him to think that no one else could know about this while the older man continued as a spy for Dumbledore. Harry shuddered at the thought of what Voldemort would do should he discover that Severus had fathered the Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore would insist it be kept a secret from everyone, and Harry knew that if he let it slip, it would increase Snape’s chances of being found out. It would also put his friends in even more jeopardy. The image of Sirius Black, head thrown back as he laughed, played suddenly in his mind, and grief threatened to drown him again. He pushed it angrily away, letting the silky strand of hair fall from his fingers. The Occlumency lessons would become critical now, as Harry was not going to gamble on his papa’s life as he had on his godfather’s.

“Harry, what is wrong? Are you in pain?” A sleep-roughened voice broke into his thoughts.

“No, sir, I just woke up,” Harry replied, meeting the dark eyes, “and was thinking. Could we start the Occlumency lessons today, sir?” 

The obsidian eyes narrowed, but Harry did not look away. He needed this man to know how committed he was to closing his mind so the Dark Lord could not get in. When he finally received a slow nod of acknowledgment, Harry sighed in relief. Swinging his legs over the bed, he gingerly walked to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth with the new toothbrush he found, and looked longingly at the shower. Knowing that wouldn’t happen until he was strong enough, he made his way back to the bed, only to find it empty. Sliding back under the blanket, Harry stared at the ceiling.

“Here, sit up for a moment, son, so I can rub the ointment into your back. I have a potion for you to drink. After that, we are going to find you something decent to wear so that you can get up and sit out at the table with me for breakfast, all right?”

Severus bustled around him, tending to his injuries and finding him some clothing of his own that would fit better. This set the pattern for the next few days, with Severus attending to Harry’s needs, making sure he ate, and talking. The Potions master told his son about his own strict, abusive father and loving mother, his grief and resentment over the fact that his father battered both his wife and his son, and how Severus feared he’d be like his father. This had allowed Harry to open up and tell his papa about his life with the Dursleys, and how they had treated him since he was a toddler. Severus tried to cover his seething rage, but had scared the boy on several occasions with loud outbursts.

It was during one of these episodes that both became aware that the touch of the other seemed to be soothing, and Harry liked nothing better than to curl up and sit in Severus’ lap. So starved was Harry for affection that Severus was afraid that he might fall victim to those who preyed on lonely children, and he made a point of touching him anytime the boy was near. Severus found that stroking his son’s wild raven hair could almost instantly calm him, even from one of his many nightmares, or when he had been startled and was afraid of physical retribution. Having many of the same issues that Harry did, Severus was surprised at how easy it was to hug his son, or lay a hand on his shoulder, or hold Harry against his chest.

Their second day together, Severus brought out the Pensieve of memories that Lily had sent him, and invited Harry to go into them. Harry eyed the man apprehensively, the memory of the last time he had looked into his father’s Pensieve at the forefront of his mind. Finally, Harry asked his father to retrieve his Pensieve, so Severus could see what his mum had sent to him. They went into each other's at the same time, and both had come out happy but crying. The realization that they had missed so much of each other’s lives was very sad, and Severus cradled his son against his chest, vowing that nothing would ever come between them again. 

They began working on Occlumency immediately, even before Harry was strong enough to be out of bed all day. Both father and son realized the danger of Voldemort having access to Harry’s mind. If the Dark Lord was truly able to see through Harry’s eyes, as Dumbledore had believed he was last term, it could be devastating to both of them, as well as the fight against the evil wizard. There was also the possibility that Voldemort would use his ability to plant other misleading images in his mind. They started the lessons this time with the theory behind the magic, and Severus explained to Harry how to meditate, helping him find the best way to clear his mind; this made it easier for Harry to work on visualizing a physical barrier in his mind. Harry also spent time research Dark Marks, wizard tattoos, and curse scars to find a way to sever the link between Voldemort and his scar, and to the ugly black Mark on his father’s arm.

The one topic that was not discussed was the death of Sirius Black. Harry knew that neither man could stand the other, so it was something that Severus would not willingly bring up. That suited him fine, as the guilt over causing his godfather’s death slowly ate away inside him, and the pocket of resentment he still felt over the Potions master’s seeming lack of concern on that fateful afternoon festered. The ache in his chest was a constant, ignored throb.

* * *

It had been five days since Severus Snape had appeared to take him away from Privet Drive, and Harry was happier than he’d ever been. He was recovering well from his injuries, had a father who loved him, and felt that the future suddenly seemed brighter to him. Standing in the bathroom, Harry examined his face for the small subtle changes they had noticed taking place. His hair was definitely growing longer, the hair soft, silky, and still a bit unmanageable, with a hint of red highlights when the sun caught is just right. His fingers were slimmer and longer, as were his feet and toes. His eyes were still brilliant green, his mouth and nose the same as they had always been, but his face had lost its roundness and was longer, more angular. He was definitely still Harry, but different enough in a way that pleased both Harry and his papa.

Stepping to the mark they had made on the bathroom door jam, Harry used the side of a nail to measure where the top of his head came to. Turning around to look, he saw that he had grown almost an inch in the past two days. Excitement flooded him, and Harry ran across the sitting room, bursting into Severus private lab where he knew the Potions master was working on the dreadfully complex Wolfsbane for Remus Lupin. He did not stop to consider the ramifications of his interruption, he was determined to share his thrilling news.

“Papa, PAPA, you have to come see, the wall shows it!! I can’t believe it, in just two days, you have to come see!” Harry at least had the presence of mind to stop in the doorway, and he could see the concentration on his father’s face as he stirred the potion in a complicated pattern, counting under his breath.

“Potter,” Severus growled, not stopping to think of what he was saying, “if I wanted nonsense shouted at me…”

Harry didn’t hear the taller man finish his sentence; he was thrown back to that nightmare of a day in Dolores Umbridge’s office, struggling against Draco Malfoy’s hold, trying to get the Potions master to understand his cryptic message.

‘He’s got Padfoot at the place where it’s hidden!’

And the answer the man had thrown at him coldly:

‘Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage.’

When Snape had swept out the door that afternoon, his last hope had been crushed. Harry, caught up in his memories, his grief, his and guilt, turned and fled. He did not remember that he had taken to walking around the soft rugs of the dungeons rooms in his bare feet, or even that he was not supposed to be seen in the castle, he just ran. Harry ran until his legs would not carry him any more, then he collapsed into a heap and cried. Stuffing his fist in his mouth to muffle the wails of pain that tore from his chest, he sobbed over the loss of the first adult to have loved him for himself, over the man he had led to his death. Rocking back and forth, Harry cried until he lost his hold on reality and succumbed to the darkness that beckoned.

* * *

Severus counted to twenty-eight the second time, and with a sigh, lowered the flame under the cauldron, knowing that the difficult part was done. The potion would have to simmer for the remainder of the day, but would be ready for the werewolf to drink tomorrow. Looking up, he was startled to see the door to the lab standing open. Frowning, he finished cleaning up, took his apron off, and washed his hands. He wasn’t sure what Harry had been going on about, but he had left without another word. 

Stepping into the sitting room, Severus went through to Harry’s bedroom, only to find it empty, the torch still burning in the bathroom. He frowned, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach, as he searched the other rooms in his suite. Harry was nowhere to be found. Stopping, Severus thought back over what he had said when Harry came bursting into the room, and instantly cursed. Not only had he called the boy Potter, he’d addressed him like an annoying student, and probably destroyed the fragile relationship they had begun to build.

Concerned, Severus began searching the dungeon rooms around his chambers, growing more and more frantic with each passing minute. Where would the boy go? He cursed himself for not knowing his son well enough to know where he would run when he was upset. A thought propelled him back into his sitting room, and he grabbed a pinch of Floo powder.

“Remus Lupin, number twelve, Grimmauld Place!”

He stuck his head in the fire. An eternity seemed to pass before he was peering into the basement kitchen of the Black house. Remus Lupin appeared, a smile on his face, and knelt on the hearth.

“Severus, how are…”

“Lupin, you have to come through! It’s Harry, you have to help!”

Lupin took one look at the expression on the Potion master's face, and stood.

“Step back, Severus, I’m coming through.”

Severus pulled his head out with a soft pop and began to pace, turning as Lupin stepped out of the fireplace.

“What’s this about Harry?” 

“I think I upset him, and now I can’t find him!” Severus grabbed him by the sleeve. “You know him better than I do, where would he go?”

Seeing the state of agitation that the Slytherin was in, Remus decided to wait until Harry was found to ask any other questions. 

“Where is his trunk?”

Severus led the way into Harry’s room, and opened the door of the wardrobe. Bending down, Remus dug through it until he found the old piece of parchment, and stood up with it in his hand.

“Merlin! The Marauders' Map! I had forgotten all about that!” The Potions master grabbed the map out of the suddenly nerveless fingers of the last surviving Marauder.

Heading back out into the sitting room, Severus spread the map on the table, next to where his Pensieve still stood.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” 

Lupin’s jaw dropped as he watched Snape tap the map with his wand, and frantically begin to search it.

“How did you know that? What is going on, Severus?”

The dark eyes found the dot he was looking for and his breath caught in his suddenly tight chest: the Astronomy Tower. He started to grab the map, but the dot wasn’t moving, so he left it. He turned only to find himself facing an angry Gryffindor. With a sigh, Severus tapped the stone basin with his wand.

“Go in and watch what that will show you, and then come find us. I may need your help. And Lupin, I will kill you if you ever disclose this to anyone.” 

Severus ran through the hallways, taking the shortest route to the top of the castle’s highest tower. His lungs were burning when he reached the door, and he stumbled, momentarily blinded when he stepped out into the sunshine. He dropped to his hands and knees as his eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden light, until he finally spotted his son in a crumpled heap in the shadow of a parapet. Staggering over, he slid down, his back propped against the wall, and he gathered Harry into his arms. Rocking back and forth, Severus pressed his face into his son’s hair, tears sliding down his face.

“I am so sorry, Harry, I didn’t think when I snapped at you. I promise I’ll try not to do it again, but really, I wasn’t angry with you.” 

He could feel the boy breathing, could see the ravages of his grief on his face, and Severus brushed the fine, silky hair off his son’s face. He could see Lily in the red highlights of the black hair and the full lips, and James in the arch of the eyebrows and the shape of Harry’s nose. With his cheekbones, and slender build, Harry was a perfect blend of all three of them, and anyone would have been proud to have such a fine young man as a son. Severus felt a sob push its way out; he had failed to protect this precious gift from the abuse of his relatives and the snake-faced bastard who had plagued both of them since before the boy was born.

“Oh, Harry, do you have any idea how much I love you?”

The emerald eyes opened slowly, their gaze dull. “Papa?”

Severus kept rocking, one hand cradling the back of Harry’s head.

“I am sorry I upset you, Harry, I didn’t mean to.”

Harry snuggled into his chest and drew a ragged breath. “It wasn’t that, it was just, well, how you said it was like the same as that day in Umbridge’s office…”

Harry’s voice trailed off, and Severus frowned, trying to think of when they had been in that toad’s office together. Finally it dawned on him what Harry meant, and all the pieces fell into place. His words had taken Harry back to the day his godfather had died, a death for which Harry felt responsible. They had sent this child back to an abusive household while he was trying to overcome his grief and guilt! It was amazing was that Harry wasn’t suicidal by now, or was he?

“Harry, what happened in the Department of Mysteries last month was not your fault. You do know that, don’t you?”

Harry leaned his head back against Severus’ arm, half of him desperate to keep from losing the love he’d heard proclaimed, yet burning to yell at Severus for his failure to help that night. How could he live with himself either way?

“You’re wrong, Papa,” he whispered. “If I had practiced what you taught me during Occlumency, Voldemort would never have been able to plant the image of him torturing Sirius in my mind. I never would have led five of my friends- _five kids!_ \- into a place where they were all hurt and could have died. Sirius did die, and all because I was a spoiled brat, unwilling to practice because I thought the dreams I was having were more important! Everyone was hiding stuff from me, for my own good they said! And I thought I could handle things on my own!”

Harry struggled to get free, but Severus held him tightly, his heart breaking at the anguish in his son’s voice.

“And when I tried to tell you that afternoon, you hated me too much to take any notice! Dumbledore’s Golden Boy pinned by Malfoy! It must have given you a lot of pleasure to think I was finally caught for my misdeeds and rule-breaking! YOU HATED ME!”

“I couldn’t have acted any different in that office, Harry, you know that. I immediately got word to Albus and the Order; they knew that Black was safe. It wasn’t until I discovered you and the others were missing that they went to the Ministry of Magic. Black refused to stay home, knowing you were there.” 

“I DON’T BELIEVE…”

“Believe him, Harry, I was there with Sirius that day, and he made the choice to go, despite the danger.” Remus Lupin lowered himself down beside them. “Sirius would not listen to reason, Harry, no matter what any of us said. You should also know that Dumbledore ordered Severus not to give himself away by trying to go back to Umbridge’s classroom like he wanted to, to get you and the others out of there.”

The anger at his father drained out of him, and Harry seemed to fold in on himself. “So it is truly all my fault, then. First Cedric and then Sirius, and before that, mum and dad; everyone around me seems to end up dead.”

“Harry! It is not your fault! Voldemort is responsible for each of those deaths!” Severus told him fiercely, trying to get through to him.

“If it had not been for me, all these people would still be alive. Sirius died because I thought I could handle things myself, and then I find out that it was all over a Prophecy that says if I don’t kill Voldemort, I condemn the whole wizarding world to his control. I can’t even keep my own cousin from beating the shit out of me, some savior I am. Everyone would be better off to just hand me over to the bastard, and come up with another plan.”

“NO!” Severus yelled, pinning Harry with a dark gaze. “I will not give you up, and you are not going to sacrifice yourself, do you hear me? We will accomplish this together, Harry, I promise. I know I did not like your godfather, but I knew him well enough to tell you that he would not want you to feel this way.”

“I agree with your…father, Harry, and I know Sirius would have been horrified to think you were blaming yourself for what happened.” Lupin leaned in, grasping one of Harry’s hands. “If Severus will let me, I will also help in your training, and would be honored to stand by your side in this fight.”

Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes again, but the ache in his chest had eased a little. “I really miss him.”

“I miss him too, Harry, and it’s okay to be sad, but you must stop blaming yourself for actions that were his choice,” Remus Lupin told him quietly.

“Harry,” Severus whispered, tilting his face up, “I love you. Remus, the Weasleys, Granger, and your dorm mates all care about you, too. I know you are blaming yourself for what happened last month, but keeping it bottled up inside won’t help. We will help you work through this, if you will let us, all right?”

Harry nodded jerkily, and buried his face in his father’s shirt. Shifting his son’s weight, Severus got to his feet and picked Harry up. With Remus following, he carried the teen back down to the dungeons, where he took care of Harry’s physical needs, bandaging his bruised feet. The three men spent the afternoon together, Severus holding Harry while he and Remus told stories of James, Lily, and Sirius, making Harry laugh, but allowing him to cry and start his grieving as well.

* * *


	5. Taking care of Harry

* * *

Severus was concerned when Harry remained quiet in the days following the incident, and consulted the Headmaster over tea in his office. Remus Lupin had agreed to stay with Harry while Severus was gone. The last of the Marauders was still astonished over the turn of events, but was glad to take a more active role in Harry’s family life. Knowing that the Prophecy was weighing heavily on the boy’s shoulders, Albus went over plans with Severus to start training Harry in advanced defense methods and continued Occlumency, as well as finding some way for him to work through his crushing guilt and grief. Severus wanted to take Harry into Hogsmeade and buy him clothing and a birthday gift, but they both knew the Potions master could not be seen with the Boy Who Lived; even disguised, Diagon Alley was out of the question.

“Something must be done, Albus. I am not a fitting confidant in this area, as it is no secret how I felt about Black, but Harry needs to have someone he trusts who he can speak to!” Severus was still upset over what had happened three days before. “Someone he is comfortable with, someone who is not drowning in his own grief as Lupin is. If that means he tells Miss Granger, than I am willing to trust her to be discreet. I don’t believe that the youngest Weasley boy is going to react favorably to the news, and Harry agrees.”

“The more people who know, the greater the chance you take that word will reach Voldemort, Severus.” The Headmaster’s blue eyes were intense. “I am not willing to risk you, and I am not sure Harry would survive it if you were lost.”

“I agree, Albus, and will be extremely careful. I believe both Lupin and Miss Granger would die before they endangered Harry.”

“Yes, yes, I agree, but I feel it may be time to call a halt to your clandestine duties, my boy. I will owl Miss Granger and invite her here day after tomorrow to visit Harry.” 

The Potions master nodded. “Now, if we could only think of a way to change Harry’s appearance somehow without adding to the magic he is already under.”

Remus Lupin actually solved the problem of changing appearances when he gave Harry several different samples of the Weasley twins’ latest invention. The newest Wheezes were candies that changed eye and hair color for an hour at a time, which would give Harry a chance to slip into Hogsmeade unnoticed. Harry was delighted, and he carefully put them to the side so that he could show his father when the Potions Master got back. He glanced at the gentle smile on the face of the last Marauder, sitting beside him on the couch. There was an air of sadness to the man, and Harry swallowed.

“Remus, you’re not mad at me, are you?” Harry studied his ragged fingernails.

“Why would I be mad at you, Harry?” The sandy-haired man tipped Harry’s chin up with a finger so that their eyes met. 

“You know, about Sirius, and pa…Professor Snape, and stuff.”

Harry found himself enveloped in a hug, and tried not to stiffen at the sudden contact. The older wizard relaxed his hold, and sat back with an assessing look.

“I was stunned when Severus shared his memories with me, but it does make certain things fall into place, especially the way James treated Severus at times, like an annoying younger brother. I am very happy for you, Harry, and am delighted that you have someone who will always be there for you. Severus can be stubborn, impatient, and irritating, but I believe he has the capacity to love unconditionally, too.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. He was glad that his former professor accepted their new situation, but his guilt over the death of his godfather still weighed heavily on him.

“I am really sorry about making Sirius, you, and the others come rescue me at the Department of Mysteries.” Harry breath hitched and his voice wavered, and he had to look back down at his hands to get control of the tears that threatened again.

“Harry, you are not responsible for the actions of your godfather!” Remus covered Harry’s hands with one of his own. “You acted on what you thought was a legitimate threat, as you did when the snake bit Arthur Weasley. You didn’t know if it was real or a trap, and made the decision based on that limited knowledge. Sirius knew it was a trap, knew Voldemort was using your love for him to lure you there; he knew that he should stay home where it was safe so we could bring you to him. He knew that he could be injured or killed or thrown back into Azkaban if Aurors caught him. Severus and I both tried to persuade him not to go, but he was as bloody stubborn as always; he insisted that you would never accept that he was okay unless you saw him! His stubbornness and his streak of recklessness, as well as Bellatrix Lestrange, are to blame for his death, not you!”

Neither of them had heard Snape enter the room; he stood quietly in the shadow of the entry listening, surprised to hear Lupin defend him to his son. The way Harry’s shoulders hunched made his chest tighten in an emotion he had not felt in a long time. He closed his eyes against the pain he felt for the grief so evident in the young voice.

“Will it ever hurt less, Remus?”

“In time, Harry, in time.” The former Defense teacher’s voice was also raw.

Stepping forward, Severus looked down at the pair of bent heads, and softly ran his fingers through the wild raven hair. Harry stiffened momentarily, and then relaxed, leaning into the touch as soon as he recognized it as his father’s. The three wizards stayed that way for several minutes before Harry looked up and smiled at the Potions master. Severus bent down and pressed a kiss into the top of the soft hair, and looked over at his colleague.

“The Headmaster would like a word with you, Lupin, if you have a moment.”

Remus Lupin stood immediately, reaching down to squeeze Harry’s shoulder gently.

“I will see you again soon, Harry, if your father agrees, but you can owl me anytime.”

“Thank you, sir, for talking to me and for the candies.” Harry looked up with a smile, which his father noticed did not quite reach his eyes.

The Potions master walked the visitor to the door. “Thank you for keeping Harry company.”

Lupin looked at him sharply, as if suspecting sarcasm, and nodded when he didn’t see any on the taller man’s face. “It was my pleasure, Severus.”

Closing the door softly, Severus let out a sigh, knowing that he could not expect anyone to accept the changes in him where Harry was concerned without suspicion. It was hard for him to fathom how he could have ever acted any other way, now that his memories had been restored, and Severus knew he would have to watch how he acted in public. He joined Harry on the couch, and he wasn’t surprised when his son immediately moved to curl up in his lap. The Potions master wrapped his arms around the teenager and began carding his fingers through Harry’s hair without conscious thought. While Harry had never said as much, the older man could tell he was almost afraid to let his father out of his sight, as if he feared Severus would not return.

“What are these brightly colored objects on the table, Harry? Hmm, they bear the label of Weasleys Wheezes, perhaps we should throw a shielding charm around them in case they blow up.”

The brat knew a diversion when he heard one, and did not bother to lift his head from where it was snuggled to the warm chest. 

“Remus brought me some samples of Fred and George’s latest candies, Papa; when you eat one, they change your hair and eye color for about an hour.”

Severus leaned over to pick one up; he gingerly unwrapped it, and examined it carefully. The candy was dark red in color, smelled fruity, and appeared to be soft, like a toffee. There were several candies in each color: dark red, brown, gold, and black. Individually, the Weasley twins had been dismal failures at potions, but they had made a formidable team when allowed to work as a pair, almost like two halves of a single brain. Severus was not surprised at the resourcefulness and ingenuity of the two, nor he did he doubt the future success of their venture.

“If these work as you described, they would be safe for you to take, and an answer to how we are to disguise you in order to go into Hogsmeade,” he said thoughtfully. “Would you like to try one?”

Harry took the proffered candy and popped it in his mouth without hesitation. It took just a moment for the treat to work, with a small pop and a flash of heat over his head. Severus’ could not stop his startled reaction, as Harry’s hair suddenly became dark auburn in color and his eyes turned hazel. His throat unusually tight, he summoned a hand mirror from his bedroom, which he silently handed to his son.

“That’s brilliant!” Harry sat up and ran a hand through his hair, which had grown out to brush his collar.

“You look very much like your mother with that coloring, Harry,” his father said tightly. 

Harry blinked at the tone, hearing the love and the hurt behind it. “Were you in love my mum, papa? I mean…”

Severus sighed, lifting a hand to cup Harry’s face. “Perhaps a bit, Harry, but she was my Hermione, my best friend, and always there when I needed her. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Harry replied with a smile, “I understand completely. I love Hermione dearly, but like a sister, and I have always known that she and Ron would be together.”

“Indeed.”

They sat together in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Severus sighed, dismissing his wistful thoughts of the past. He pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s auburn hair before displacing him from his lap. The teenager may have grown taller in the past week, but he was still too thin and underweight.

“Come, brat, you may help me brew a calming draught for Madam Pomfrey.”

“You actually want me to help you with a potion?” Harry asked in surprise.

His father smirked at him. “I will endeavor to assign you simple tasks, Mister Potter, so there is no danger of exceeding your abilities.”

“My abilities are fine, if bloody Malfoy would stop sabotaging my potions,” Harry muttered angrily, as he rose from the couch. “Not that you’ve ever cared.”

The Potions master stopped in his tracks, and turned in time to catch his son by the shoulders as he walked into him. Steadying the teen with a hand on his shoulder, Severus chose to ignore the glare directed at him. 

“I am perfectly aware of what happens in my classroom, Harry, and will teach you a simple shielding charm that you can cast on your cauldron that will not affect most potions. Also, if you cast an unbreakable spell on your vials, then that ‘greasy git’ of a Potions master would not be able to drop and break your samples.” 

“Oh,” Harry flushed, “I never thought of that.”

The pair found that they could work together quite well when they actually communicated, and ended up brewing a pain potion in addition to the calming draught. Harry was surprised at how well his father instructed when he took the time to show how things were supposed to be done. He also found that he really enjoyed watching the Potions master at work, and felt that he was truly helping as Severus instructed him on how to prepare the ingredients he needed. They worked through until dinnertime, completely several batches of each potion for the hospital wing. Harry was particularly proud of a batch of a mild sleeping draught that he brewed himself, under his father’s guidance

Dinner was a simple pasta dish made by Severus in their kitchen, rather than being served by the house-elves. Today had been the first day since being taken from the Dursleys' house that Harry did not take a short nap in the afternoon, and he was amazed at how hungry and tired he felt. His exhaustion was a good feeling, though, a feeling that came from having accomplished something. His body had healed; he’d begun to put on some weight, and was almost as healthy as he’d been before the ill-fated trip to the Department of Mysteries. Severus had relayed to him the contents of his conversation with the Headmaster, and Harry was looking forward to seeing Hermione. Though he looked forward to having new clothes, he was a bit nervous about going shopping.

They spent the evening reading, Harry tucked into Severus’ side with an arm around his shoulders, which the taller wizard found he enjoyed very much. It continued to amaze him how different Harry was from the arrogant spoiled brat image that Severus had created in his mind over the years. It seemed his son had been right about his potions skills as well, especially with a bit of patience and direction, and Severus felt a flash of guilt again for his abominable teaching style. Perhaps he could make change to the way he instructed without stirring the curiosity of the Death Eaters in training within his own House.

When Harry was unable to keep his eyes open any longer, his father shooed him off to bed. Brushing his teeth and tugging on a transfigured pair of sleep pants, Harry crawled into bed, where Severus let him take half a vial of the mild sleeping draught Harry had brewed that afternoon. Sleeping the night through without nightmares was still a problem for the teenager, even after learning to clear him mind and shield it properly. Harry was very pleased with how well he’d done with his Occlumency since he’d come to live with Snape, but it only stopped the Voldemort-sent dreams, not true visions or Harry’s regular nightmares. His father pressed a kiss to his forehead, and Harry smiled as he fell asleep.

The Potions master was standing in the middle of the sitting room, debating whether he should read his journal or follow his son’s example and have an early night, when the Dark Mark began to burn. Wincing at the pain that radiated outward from the ugly tattoo, Severus scratched out a quick note to Harry where her was going and propped it against the teen’s glasses. Robes thrown on and mask in hand, Severus strode quickly to the Apparation point and disappeared with a crack. The Headmaster was alerted as soon as he had left the protective wards of Hogwarts.

* * *

White-hot pain seared his forehead, and Harry hissed as he opened his eyes to a dark stone chamber lit by several flickering torches. The scene was tinged in red, as if viewed through a filter. A circle of black-robed, white-masked figures stood, heads bowed, around the large high-backed chair in which he sat. Harry felt angry, and his irritation spiked as a lone figure walked into the room, bowed, and took a place in the circle.

“Late again, Severus? It disappoints me that you are always the last to arrive, my Potions Master.”

“My Lord, I was in residence at Hogwarts, and…”

“You know I do not tolerate excuses, Snape. _Crucio_!”

He stood and held the curse, his high-pitched laughter making Harry’s head ache even more, before he lifted it and let the insolent man crawl back into the circle. Surveying his silent followers, he turned to look down on a short, pudgy figure at his right hand. 

“Did you find the Potter brat, Wormtail?”

“He seems to have disappeared from his relative’ house, Master. My new spy told me that Dumbledore visited him a week ago. He had with him another man, tall, dark and dressed in black,” Wormtail continued, his beady eyes fixed on Severus, “and has not been seen since.”

“Severus? Is this true? I have not been able to sense Potter for more than a week, and had thought he might have met his fate.”

“I accompanied the Headmaster to check on the boy, as he had not yet recovered from your duel, my Lord. I provided a healing potion to the whelp, and was returned to Hogwarts via portkey. I did not see Dumbledore remove the brat from the residence.”

“Yet, you did not think to advise me of the incident, Severus?”

“The unpleasant child was merely striving for attention as usual, my Lord, not something I would deem significant enough to bother you with.”

“Such arrogance, Severus. Who are you to decide what I may or may not think is significant? _Crucio_!”

The high, cold laugh reverberated in his mind, and the malevolent pleasure at the pain he was inflicting threatened to rupture his brain. Screaming, Harry wrenched himself back from the edge of blackness, and found himself on the floor of his bedroom, retching. His head searing with pain and tears running down his face, Harry grabbed his wand and his glasses, and then dove into the bottom of the wardrobe for his invisibility cloak. Throwing it around his shoulders, he jammed his feet into the old pair of boots he’d been borrowing, and ran out the door. 

Harry did not remember much about his sprint through the castle, or even exiting the great oak Entrance doors; he only stopped when he reached the Apparation point just outside the wards. Hiding behind the stone wall, Harry tried to catch his breath, ignoring the intense throbbing in his head, as he waited for his father to return. A short while later, the sound of two people Apparating disturbed the quiet night, and he heard someone drop to the ground with a groan. Lucius Malfoy’s cultured voice sent a shiver down his spine.

“You are lucky that our Lord is forgiving, Severus, or you would not have fared so well. I would suggest you find out what happened to that little horror quickly, or you will find no mercy next time.”

There was again the crack of Apparation, then silence. All Harry could hear was the sound of raspy breathing. Peering around the edge of the wall, he could see the dark silhouette of a figure lying on the ground. Poking the tip of his wand out the edge of his cloak, Harry levitated the unconscious man through the gate and back into the protective wards. Throwing his hood back, Harry continued back into the castle. He didn’t stop to check the extent of his father’s injuries until he was safely back in the Entrance Hall, where the Headmaster met them. Whatever scolding the aged wizard was going to give Harry died on his lips as he took in the appearance of the Potions master floating behind him.

“I am going to take my father to his room, Professor Dumbledore. He has been put under multiple Cruciatus Curses tonight, and all because of me!” Harry was not aware of the tears sliding down his face. “He can’t go back there again, Professor, Voldemort will kill him.”

Harry made his way to their rooms as quickly as he could, maneuvering Severus onto his bed. As carefully as he could, he gently undressed his papa, wincing at the bruises that were already developing across the man’s chest and back. Tossing the soiled clothing on the floor, Harry retrieved a warm, wet cloth from the bathroom and began to clean dirt off his father’s face and hands.

“Harry, are you all right?” Madam Pomfrey pulled him gently away from the bed. She studied his face for a moment before pressing a vial into his hand. “Take that for your head.”

Moving to stand at the end of the bed, Harry took his potion while the mediwitch started her exam. Albus Dumbledore moved to stand beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

“You had a vision, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry said, never taking his eyes off of Severus. “Wormtail has a new spy, someone in the Order I think, as they saw you and papa coming to get me from the Dursleys. Voldemort was not happy when the rat told him, and demanded to know why papa had not told him right away, and then the bastard cursed him for being arrogant. Papa is supposed to find out where I am and take me to Voldemort, or die trying.”

Harry turned to lock eyes with the powerful wizard standing beside him, a gleam of determination lighting his emerald eyes. “Professor, I will do whatever it takes to kill Voldemort, but I can’t do it if anything happens to my father. Please, promise me that he won’t ever have to go back. Please!”

Dumbledore nodded his head, his expression grave. “It sounds as if his role as a spy has been compromised, Harry. Besides, I believe that Severus has a greater role to play now, that of your father. He will not be going back to Voldemort.”

Harry nodded, the relief that washed over him bringing tears to his eyes. Turning back, he watched the sure moves of the nurse as she healed the worst of his father’s injuries, and poured several vials of potions down his throat. The Potions master stirred as the woman carefully tucked the blankets around him.

“Harry?” His voice was raspy, his throat felt raw.

Harry slid into bed with him, reaching out a trembling hand to lay it on his father’s arm. “I’m here, papa. May I stay with you tonight?”

“That would be acceptable,” Severus whispered, his face relaxing as he slid into sleep.

* * *


	6. Hermione and Hogsmeade

* * *

Severus Snape scowled darkly at his son as the boy moved around his bed, straightening blankets and fluffing pillows. The cheeky brat was taking far too much pleasure in the reversal of their new roles; the ex-Death Eater would never admit it, but he was deeply touched by the ease with which his son had come to care for him. To say that his behavior of the past five years toward the young Gryffindor had been cruel would be putting it mildly, and the teenager’s understanding and ready acceptance of their situation had astounded him. The cynic in him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, fearing that Harry would decide that he didn’t need a father after all. Watching Harry leave the room to fetch his tea, Severus felt anew a wave of relief at the Headmaster’s edict relieving him of his spying duties. He had lived on the edge for so long that it had been a forgone conclusion to him that he would die young, and he had never planned on a future. Now, it seemed that he might actually live to realize some of his secret dreams; although he knew it would not be easy, given his recent addition to the list of people Voldemort wanted dead, Severus was determined to claim Harry as his son. 

“Papa? Are you alright?” Harry stood in the doorway with a tray in his hands.

“Just contemplating the reaction of the Minister of Magic when he discovers your parentage,” Severus told him as he watched the boy set the tray on the bedside table.

Harry straightened and met the onyx eyes, disturbed by his father’s predatory tone of voice. “What do you mean?” 

Hearing the apprehension in Harry’s voice, Severus relented, patting the bed beside him. Handing the Potions master a cup of tea, Harry climbed up beside him, careful not to jostle his arm.

“As soon as you are ready, I would like to file your true birth certificate with the Ministry of Magic, and petition for legal custody of you. I have a feeling that Cornelius Fudge will not be pleased to learn that one of your parents is a former Death Eater.”

Harry stared at his hands folded in his lap, thrilled that his father wanted him, but torn by the feeling that he was a pawn in a complicated chess game. A long hand covered his and he looked up to meet the older man’s eyes.

“Harry, while I can not deny a certain perverse pleasure in the opportunity to best that idiot Fudge, that is not my reason for wanting to make our relationship legal. I promised that you would never go back to those muggles, and in order to fulfill that promise I must gain legal custody of you.”

Harry nodded silently and looked away. 

“Harry, do you want me to file for custody?”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Harry nodded again, his chest tightening at the thought of being considered a burden again. Staring at the wall without seeing it, he chewed on his bottom lip and chided himself for expecting a softer sentiment from the man beside him. No matter what past they might share, this was Severus Snape after all, and he was not known for being warm and sentimental. A hand cupped his chin and turned his head, obsidian eyes bored into emerald.

“Harry, I thought you wanted to stay with me, was I wrong?”

“No, sir, it’s just that I don’t want to be a…” the word caught in his throat.

Severus set his cup back on the tray and slipped an arm around the teenager, pulling the still too light boy onto his lap. Settling Harry into his arms, he brushed the fringe off his son’s forehead.

“I would not do anything you do not agree with, Harry. I want you with me because you are my son, I am proud of you, and I love you.”

A brilliant smile lit Harry’s face, and Severus answered with a small one of his own.

“I love you, too, Papa, and yes, I would like to stay with you.”

“It would seem we were in agreement, then.”

* * *

Harry waited anxiously for Hermione to arrive the next morning. His father, dressed in trousers and a white pullover, was sitting at the dining room table, reading the _Daily Prophet_ as he drank his tea. Harry, pacing in front of the fireplace, was wearing a similar outfit that his father had transfigured to fit him. He brushed a hand down the front of the Slytherin green pullover, knowing that the Potions master had chosen the color for that very reason. It was rather comforting to know that father or not, the older wizard had not really changed. A sudden question popped into his head.

“Papa, when we file the petition with the Ministry, will my name change to Snape?”

Severus lowered his paper, his mild irritation at the boy’s pacing evaporating as he took in the serious expression on the young face. It was not a question to which he had an immediate answer, and he pondered it for a moment.

“Since both James and I will be listed as fathers, you are entitled to use either name or both as you wish. I would think that you will be urged by most to retain your name as is, in the light of being the Boy Who Lived.”

Severus tried his best not to sneer at the phrase, but failed, and was surprised when Harry smiled.

“If you only knew how much I hate that label! So would I be Harry James Potter-Snape or Harry James Snape-Potter?”

“Traditionally in a familial situation like ours, you would use Potter-Snape if you chose to combine the names.”

Harry nodded, knowing that no matter how much it might surprise or dismay his friends, he was more than happy to proclaim his heritage. “Potter-Snape it is, then,” he decreed, looking slyly at his father, “and you have to use the whole thing if you want to yell at me in class!”

“Have I told you what an impertinent brat you are?” 

“I believe so, but it bears repeating,” Harry replied in a reasonable imitation of the Potions master, who just laughed at him.

A knock at the door made Harry jump, and Severus got gracefully to his feet. Harry fidgeted as he heard his father open the door, exchange greetings with the Headmaster, and greet Hermione. 

“Harry!” 

He was barely able to brace himself before Hermione threw herself into his arms. Her hug forced the breath from his lungs, and Harry laughed at her enthusiasm even as he hugged her back. She thrust him back to arm’s length and studied him with a critical eye.

“You look great, Harry! Still a bit on the skinny side, I swear you never eat, but you have grown several inches, and I love your hair! How come you’ve never let it grow out before? I love the red in it, you must get that from your mum, and your face has thinned out a bit, too. Goodness, you are really a looker, Harry! The girls are going to be all over you this year! Now, tell me what you are doing here, staying with Professor Snape, for heaven’s sake! Did you get yourself in trouble again? Oh, Harry! I…”

“Miss Granger, if you could pause to take a breath, please?” Severus could not help but smirk at the bewildered, overwhelmed expression on his son’s face. “I am sure Harry will be able to explain things to you.”

Hermione shot a questioning look between the two raven-haired males and followed Harry to the couch. Harry was not sure how to start, and he fidgeted nervously until his father moved across the room and returned with the pensieve that his mum had sent him. Setting it down on the table as the girl watched carefully, Severus straightened and met his son’s gaze.

“Would you like me to stay while you explain to Miss Granger?”

Harry nodded and watched his friend’s eyes widen as he slid over to make room for Snape. Reaching out to touch the Pensieve, Harry watched the runes glow as they recognized his magical signature.

“I did what you suggested, Hermione, and sent pa…Professor Snape an apology as soon as I got to the Dursleys, which he accepted. I think I wrote and told you that, didn’t I?” Harry asked.

“Yes, you also said that your cousin and his bunch were giving you a hard time, and I was afraid they had really hurt you again when your letters stopped coming.”

Harry kept his eyes on Hermione as he felt his father’s dark gaze. “Well, about ten days ago, both the professor and I received time-spelled Pensieves from my mum. I would like to share mine with you.”

Hermione looked at him, startled. A Pensieve was the receptacle of one’s thoughts and it was an incredibly personal honor to be asked to share one; Harry and Hermione both knew this. Harry also knew that it was the best way to explain the situation, and to let his best friend know how his papa really felt. It seemed the only way to truly let her know that he was loved and safe in the Potions master’s care. With a nod, Hermione leaned forward and touched her nose to the shimmering surface. Harry leaned back against the older man, and found himself hauled up into his father’s lap, enfolded in a hug.

“It will be fine, Harry. Your friend cares for you and will accept me if for no reason other than it will make you happy.”

“I know, Papa,” he sighed, “and she will be able to help us tell Ron and his family. I would like to tell them before we file the papers with the Ministry, because they will not keep quiet about it.”

“Indeed, it will be in the Prophet within a day, I would estimate.” 

Severus could feel the tension in the young Gryffindor’s body, and eased him back against his chest, one hand carding through his hair. “Hermione will be fine with the news, Harry, and I would really like you to talk to her, about this and other matters. I know there are some things that a teenager might not want to share with a parent or teacher; however, you need someone you trust as a confidant, with whom you can share what you are feeling, as it is not conducive to your health to keep things trapped inside. It will eat you from the inside like a parasite, and serve only to make you cold and bitter.”

Knowing that he was speaking from personal experience, Harry nodded at his father’s words, and gratefully accepted the comfort being offered. They did not have long to wait, as Hermione’s back stiffened, and the young witch pulled out of the pensieve with tears streaming down her face. There was no surprise when she saw Harry sitting curled up in the Potions master’s lap, and she threw herself at both of them, enveloping both in a hug.

“Oh, Harry, I am so happy for you! Finally, you have a family, a father to love you…” her voice broke as Harry returned her hug.

Severus was completely unprepared to discover two children occupying his lap, and his immediate reaction was to dump both on the floor. Clamping down on that urge, he awkwardly patted the girl’s back, before easing himself out from under both teenagers. Standing, he brushed the new wrinkles out of his trousers, then laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you and Miss Granger talk for awhile, Harry? I have a few things to do in my lab. We will have lunch when I return and then we can go into Hogsmeade. You may call me if you need me.”

Harry nodded and wiped a hand across his face. “All right, Papa.”

Harry smiled at the sight of the feared Potions master escaping behind the door to his private laboratory, then turned to his friend. There was a look on her face that he could not fathom, one of sorrow and pain.

“What’s wrong, Hermione?”

The brunette gave him a watery smile. “I was just thinking of all the time you have lost and how different your life might have been, Harry. It is amazing to see how the professor changed from the young man in your Pensieve, to the teacher we have known for the past five years, and to his behavior today, that was actually, well, affectionate. I guess the return of his memories are what have allowed him to love you so readily, and you him. Have you told him how the Dursleys treated you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You never said anything, but Ron and I have suspected that your relatives didn’t treat you well. You come back to school every year looking half starved, covered in bruises and new scars.”

“Yes, actually he and Professor Dumbledore came to check on me just after Dudley and his gang jumped me, so he saw it first hand. He says I never have to go back there.”

“Excellent, Harry, I am very glad to hear that! Now tell me how you are coping with everything else.”

They talked for several hours; Hermione drew out Harry’s feelings of deep depression and guilt over Sirius’ death, the fear the Snape would revert to hating him at any moment, as well as the helplessness engendered by his knowledge of the Prophecy. It felt good to be able to unburden himself, until Harry saw the horrified look on his friend’s face. He started to apologize, but Hermione would not let him. In typical Hermione style, she chided him about his insecurities, and promised to start researching the Dark Mark as soon as possible. The Prophecy had taken her by surprise, especially when Harry reminded her about the incident in their third year when Trelawney accurately predicted Wormtail’s escape. 

“So there is nothing you can do, except get ready for the time when you have to kill him?”

Harry shrugged. “Or be killed, I suppose. Either way, it is not a future I look forward to.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t had a screaming fit by now,” she said gently. “You were so angry last summer, and this is much worse.”

“I did have a bit of a blow up at my father a couple days after I got here,” Harry admitted as his face went pink.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, Harry. You were never allowed to be a normal child with temper tantrums, so you didn’t learn how to control how you feel or how to express your feelings. It’s perfectly normal that sometimes your emotions get a little out of hand.”

Severus heard the girl’s comment as he walked back into the room, and it stopped him cold. Neglect and emotional abuse went hand in hand with the verbal tirade he had witnessed from Petunia Dursley. It also explained quite a bit about his son’s reactions and demeanor since his first day at Hogwarts, and especially the instant attachment Harry had developed to Severus since they had received the letters from Lily. He was about to make his presence known, but the witch’s next words stopped him.

“Harry, did they ever give you anything? Were you ever allowed to play with other children, or have any toys to play with?”

Images from their Occlumency lessons during fifth year came back to him, as Harry was forced to watch as his obese cousin rode a new red bicycle, jealousy eating at him. The filthy muggles had robbed the boy of his childhood; Severus clenched his teeth, vowing again to deal with the Dursleys properly, and soon. Hearing enough, the older wizard moved into the sitting room.

“Are we ready for lunch?” 

Smirking at the two startled teenagers, Severus studied his son’s pale face as he ushered them towards the table. The house-elves had provided crisp salads and crusty bread, with a bread pudding to finish. They ate quickly, keeping the conversation light and centered on the OWL results the two students were expecting to receive soon. When they finished, Severus excused himself and went to his bedroom to retrieve the appearance changing candies.

“Here are yours, Harry,” the older wizard handed Harry two of the red treats. He kept the two brown treats for himself, and laid the rest on the table.

They had decided that Severus would take the candies that changed his hair to a warm chocolate brown and eyes dark blue, and he would wear a light gray cloak over his trousers and shirt, instead of his usual black robes. Harry’s pants were transfigured into Muggle jeans, which went well with his green pullover. Hermione insisted on taking the golden-colored candies; to her delight they turned her hair a golden blonde and eyes hazel.

Harry, who was delighted to finally be outside in the warm sunshine, thought the walk into Hogsmeade was wonderful. He felt good for the first time in a long time, his body was healed, and he’d started to put on some weight. Even his mood felt light, after his talk with Hermione. While he still missed Sirius terribly, Harry knew he could not allow himself to drown in the despair he had been feeling, or let the Prophecy overwhelm him. It would be a struggle not to let it pull him down, but he knew he could do it, because he was not alone.

The afternoon went by quickly. Harry was astounded at the amount of clothing Severus thought he needed, and he tried on new clothing, Muggle and wizard, until he was exhausted. Luckily, he had help from Hermione and his father picking out the ones that looked best. With a bemused smile on his face, Harry had browsed the small bookstore next to Gladrags, looking for a book that might help him learn more about the Dark Mark before heading to their last stop, Honeydukes. There was a momentary battle of wills when Harry scooped up handfuls of various types of sweets, thinking to put them away for when he was hungry. Severus had disagreed and told him to put half of each pile back. Unused to parental intervention on any level, Harry began to get angry. Severus stepped closer and spoke to him quietly.

“You no longer need to worry about supplementing your diet with hidden candy, Harry. We can come back for more later, all you need to do is ask. Please put these back.”

Emerald eyes met onyx, and Harry saw no malice or anger there; he realized that this wasn’t about the Potions master exerting his authority, but a father who wanted him to feel secure. With a nod, Harry put half of the sweets back, trying not to look at Hermione’s pleased expression. Harry was a bit surprised when Severus bought his own small pile of chocolate truffles and candyfloss. Their arms laden with packages, the trio made their way back to the gates of Hogwarts just as the Weasley Wheezes treats wore off.

Harry had just walked into the sitting room when he was hit with a searing, white-hot pain in his forehead. Grabbing at his scar, he was not aware of collapsing to the floor, only the agony in his head. Hands grabbed at him, and he tried to get away from them as every nerve ending in his back suddenly exploded in pain.

Severus was shutting the door when he heard Harry’s scream of pain, and he dropped the packages he was carrying as he moved to catch his son before Harry hit the floor. At a loss, he looked up and met worried brown eyes; Hermione knelt beside him, pulling Harry’s hands away from his scar. The teenager fought them until his body bowed stiffly, thrashing as if in the throes of the Cruciatus Curse. 

“Harry! Stop fighting us, love, just ride it out,” Hermione urged, not allowing him to gouge at his scar and hurt himself. 

Severus sat on the floor and pulled his son’s stiff body into his lap, letting the girl control his hands so that he could hold Harry as securely as possible. As suddenly as it began, the fit was over, and Hermione immediately turned Harry’s head to the side.

“He’s going to sick up now, he always does.”

As Harry began to vomit, the Dark Mark burned red-hot on the Potions master’s arm; Severus gasped, but he continued to hold his son, even when the intensity of the burning increased. Hermione was helping Harry sit up in his lap, cleaning the mess on the floor with a wave of her wand. 

“He knows, Papa! Someone saw us during our walk back from Hogsmeade, as we changed back,” Harry whispered. His voice was hoarse, and Severus could feel him trembling. 

Harry leaned against the warm chest, gradually becoming aware that something was wrong. Although his father held him tightly with one arm, the other hung limply by his side. Grabbing the left arm, he pushed up the sleeve with trembling fingers and gasped as he saw the raw, angry skin surrounding the Mark. Placing the palm of his hand over the ugly tattoo, Harry could feel it pulse as Severus hissed in pain. He could feel the Dark magic surge and he held on tighter, wishing he could take the pain away from the older wizard. His scar gave a great throb of pain, and Harry groaned, and released the arm to grab at his head.

The pain in his arm eased, allowing Severus to take a deep breath. He brushed the sweaty hair off Harry’s forehead with unsteady fingers. 

“Miss Granger, will you fire-call the Headmaster, please, and ask him to join us? I believe we need to put our plans into effect sooner than anticipated.”

* * *


	7. Colouring Books

* * *

Hermione stayed with them through the afternoon, keeping Harry company. Severus left with the Headmaster soon after assuring himself that his son was all right. Harry was uncertain whether he should be concerned or elated with the latest development. His father seemed relieved to be released from the servitude he had to pretend to Voldemort, and determined to assume his parental role. The idea of finally having someone in his life that he could depend on warred with the knowledge that there were drawbacks to having a father as well, such a loss of autonomy. The first victim of his parental authority had been Harry’s invisibility cloak, which the Potions Master had confiscated. Having a parent meant dealing with someone who would actually care if he broke the rules or did something stupid.

“Harry?”

He looked up into concerned brown eyes, and gave his best friend what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Cocking her head, the young witch studied his face critically. 

“Are you worried about Ron’s reaction to the news or that Professor Snape will take his new duties seriously?”

Harry grinned and shook his head. “I don’t know how you do that! To answer your question, both, I guess. Ron can be…difficult at times, and well, Papa’s already taken my cloak away, so I’m pretty sure he’s taking his new role seriously.”

Hermione didn’t even try to look sympathetic. “Good, that bloody thing is dangerous! Look at the trouble you have gotten into using that cloak! Don’t worry about Ron, though, Harry; he’ll be happy for you, I’m sure.”

“He won’t be happy that I am a Snape.”

“Ron will come around, Harry,” she patted his knee. “He has grown up a lot over the past year.”

“That’s why his face still gets purple every time you mention Viktor Krum, right?”

Hermione blushed. In an effort to distract him, she quickly handed him a package wrapped in red and gold paper, which she had been hiding behind her back.

“Here, an early birthday present.”

Grinning, Harry took the present and ripped into it. Inside he found a wizarding coloring book and a box of enchanted crayons. The book featured various Quidditch scenes drawing in black on white parchment paper, unmoving like their muggle counterparts. Not sure how to react to a present usually given to small children, he looked up at the young witch with a puzzled expression. Hermione sighed again; pulling a crayon out of the box, she opened the coloring book.

“I know you never got any presents as a child, Harry, and never got to do any of this as a little boy,” she said as she colored in a quaffle. “I thought you might enjoy these.”

As soon as she was finished coloring the reddish ball, it zoomed across the open pages of the book.

“Wicked!” Harry cried in delight. He grabbed his own crayon and began to fill in the robes of a player on a broom.

They were still coloring when Severus returned, and he stopped to watch them in bewilderment. He could not fathom why the two teenagers were sitting coloring in a child’s book until Harry looked up and flashed him a brilliant smile.

“Papa, look! The pictures move after you color them!”

Interpreting the look he was getting from the young witch, in addition to his son’s reaction, the Potions Master realized that Harry had never seen a wizarding coloring book, and had probably never had the muggle type as a boy. The seething rage he felt towards Lily’s sister and her family bubbled up inside him again, and he tamped it down with effort.

“Am I to assess your artistic abilities, or merely admire them dutifully?” 

Harry laughed at the dry, sarcastic tone. “You admire them dutifully and lie about how well they are done, like all fathers!”

Severus rolled his eyes in a perfect imitation of Harry, which set Hermione to laughing. They sat down to a light summer dinner of salad and pasta in a garlic herb sauce, which they all helped to put together. Harry was fascinated by the way his father used a combination of wizarding and muggle methods of cooking, boiling the pasta in a pot over a gas flame, and preparing the sauce in a small cauldron like a potion. He was even more interested in hearing about his paternal great-grandparents, who were Italian. From the sound of it, his grandmother and her parents had been the only truly loving influence in young Severus’ life. 

After dinner, Hermione flooed home directly from the fireplace in their dungeon rooms, promising to see him the next day at the meeting the Potions Master had arranged. Harry sat staring into the fireplace for a long time after the young witch left. He was tired; it had been a long and stressful day, and tomorrow promised to be the same. His father had told them over dinner that the appropriate paperwork was completed, all that was needed was for the papers to be signed in the presence of a Ministry official, and the final proof of paternity witnessed. The Headmaster had arranged for this all to take place tomorrow at Grimmauld Place, believing that Harry’s sixteenth birthday was the perfect opportunity to submit the application. 

A feeling of dread settled into the pit of his stomach as Harry thought of returning to the Black family residence in London. It would be the first time he’d been back since Sirius’ death, and he shuddered at the prospect. How his godfather had hated that place, and had wanted to escape it! At least, Harry thought, he would not have to face Kreacher again, the house-elf’s head now resided on a plaque in the hallway, he guessed, knowing only that Remus had told him the elf was gone. That news had been well received, as was the news that Professor Dumbledore had finally removed the portrait of Sirius’ mother.

The sound of a page turning reminded Harry he wasn’t alone, and he shot a glance at the man who was his father. Sitting in a comfortable leather armchair, a snifter of brandy at his elbow, Severus sat reading through an old book. Harry took a moment to study the strong profile, as he wondered what he himself would look like in twenty years. A look in the mirror told him that his face had thinned out a bit, his hair had lengthened and smoothed out some, as he’d grown almost five inches over the past month, but his eyes, the shape of his lips, and, thankfully, his nose, had all remained the same.

“Do you expect me to do something out of the ordinary, Harry, or is there a specific reason you are staring at me?” His father’s voice was faintly mocking.

“No, sir,” Harry answered, meeting dark eyes that were absent of the malice he’d learned to expect over the years. “I was just thinking about tomorrow.”

“I realize you expect a less than enthusiastic reaction from Weasley, Harry, but it would seem there is something else bothering you.”

Harry dropped his eyes, not sure how his father would react given the depth of the hatred he still had for Sirius Black. “It’s just, well, I haven’t been back to Grimmauld Place since Sirius…” 

He took a deep breath, not able to force the words out, and he felt the couch dip beside him. Looking up, Harry met the questioning look, and leaned against the older wizard’s side.

“I am trying not to blame myself for what happened, Papa, but it’s hard, especially when I think about being in that house tomorrow.”

Stretching an arm across the slender shoulders, Severus did his best to be reassuring. “Your godfather would not want you to feel this way, Harry, even if he hated it himself. He always seemed to feel trapped there, and he was not one to deal with that well.”

A surge of anger went through Harry. “And you taunted him about it every chance you got!”

Severus could tell by the set of his son’s mouth and glare he was getting that this was one of the dangerous areas that lingered between father and son, and thought carefully before he answered.

“Yes, I did, Harry. When we were in each other’s presence, our past always resurfaced as if it hadn’t been over fifteen years ago. I taunted Black every chance I got, and he gave it back to me just as well, insult for insult. Without my memories of the times we had both been friends of Lily and James, and with your godfather’s sense that I betrayed all of them by becoming a Death Eater, there was really no other course for us. I may have loathed the man, Harry, but I did not wish him dead.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I guess I would be the same way with Malfoy. No matter how many years go by, he’ll still be an arrogant git.”

Severus gave him a small smile. “I would not dismiss Draco just yet, son. He keeps himself hidden behind that mask of snobbery, and he might surprise you in the end.”

A huge yawn split his Harry’s face as he considered a reply. He smiled sheepishly as he leaned his head against his father’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you go to bed, Harry? It has been a very long day.”  
Harry glanced at the wizarding clock on the wall, and saw that it was still twenty minutes before midnight. 

“I was waiting for midnight.”

“Is that a significant time for a particular reason?”

Frowning, Harry glanced up at his father. “Midnight is when I have always celebrated my birthday, Papa; even the owls my friends send to me come at midnight.”

Severus looked at him, confusion in his expression as he tried to figure out what Harry was talking about.

“Harry, why don’t you tell me about how your birthdays were celebrated when you were little?”

“I…I didn’t even know when my birthday was until I started school,” he admitted, swallowing at the painful memory, “and my first teacher told me. The Dursleys ignored it altogether, but when I was old enough, I would sit up until midnight on the thirtieth, and wish myself a happy birthday before going to sleep. On my eleventh birthday, I was doing that in the small hut by the sea when Hagrid burst through the door, exactly at midnight. Since then, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid have never forgotten, and they always send me my presents so that they arrive at midnight.”

Severus felt rage building and struggled not to give life to the seething anger. “The more I hear about the Dursleys, the more I fear I will have to pay them a visit before too long and hex all of them into oblivion!”

Harry laughed in delight, his mind envisioning Uncle Vernon with a pig snout, and Aunt Petunia with a donkey’s rear. His laugh died when he saw that his father was truly struggling with his anger; Harry felt a warm glow in his chest when he realized that his snarky git of a Potions Master seemed to truly care about what his life had been like.

“You do not need to wait up, Harry, although you may if you wish. This year you are having a proper birthday, which means a special meal, a special outing, and a cake of your own. Our journey to Grimmauld Place in the morning will have to suffice for the outing this year, but we will plan to go somewhere special next year, all right?”

Harry nodded, not sure what to say, and sat there contently watching the clock count down to midnight, leaning against his father. The seconds ticked down, and at the soft chime, he felt a kiss pressed to the top of his head.

“Happy Birthday, son.”

He was still smiling as he went to bed.

* * *


	8. Harry's Birthday

* * *

After a late breakfast, Severus waited nervously for Harry to dress for their outing. He held the small Pensieve that Harry had received, and when Harry joined him, they Flooed to Grimmauld Place from the fireplace in the Headmaster’s office, arriving to find Remus Lupin waiting for them in the kitchen. Watching his son’s face for distress, Severus could see it set in a determined expression, as if the boy was not going to let melancholy overwhelm him. It helped that the entire house had been scoured of dark magic and cleaned from rafters to basement by a horde of Hogwarts house-elves. 

Ushering them upstairs to the drawing room, Remus opened the door to show that Mister and Missus Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were already there waiting. To Harry’s surprise, Professor McGonagall stood beside the Headmaster at the far end of the room, and he watched as his father headed towards them. Swarmed by Weasleys, pulled firmly into Missus Weasley’s ample bust, Harry hugged everyone back, shook Mister Weasley’s hand, acknowledged birthday greetings, and then found himself dragged to the opposite end of the room by Ron and Ginny. Hermione followed, trying to assist Harry.

“Bloody hell, mate!” Ron whispered loudly. “What did you do to get thrown in the dungeons with the greasy git for the summer?”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, her eyes narrowing.

Oblivious to any of the signals the young witch was broadcasting, the youngest Weasley son pressed on. “Does it have something to do with, you know, the battle at the Ministry?” His voice dropped. “It doesn’t have to do with what happened to Sirius…”

“RON!” Harry bellowed his face white. “It’s not like that, I want to be there!”

“But, Harry, this is Snape we are talking about! How could you-”

“Harry?” Severus walked up behind Harry, a hand descending on his shoulder as he scowled darkly at Weasley. “We are ready.”

Harry nodded, throwing a pleading look at Ron, and moved to where his father and Professor Dumbledore stood at one end of the room. The Headmaster stepped forward, and the others sat down on an assortment of mismatched chairs.

“Harry and Severus both received unexpected news two weeks ago from Lily Potter, in delayed-delivery packages. As you are the people that Harry considers part of his family, he requested you be informed of the news they received before it is made public. In order to expedite the matter, both have agreed to allow you to view some of the memories that they received from Harry’s mum.” 

Severus stepped forward and tapped the Pensieve with his wand, and Harry did the same. Stepping back, Severus watched the faces of the family who had adopted his son as one of their own, as they viewed Lily and his memories of the events of so long ago, including James’ recovery from the infertility hex, the Familial Fertility Potion, and Harry’s birth. He narrowed his eyes as his son’s best friend gasped and shot a look at the teenager standing beside him. The Potions master tried his best to ignore the look of pity and dawning understanding that the Weasley matriarch gave him as his emotional younger self removed the memories of the family he loved. 

The room was silent when the shimmering surface of the Pensieve smoothed out and the Headmaster motioned father and son to stand before him. With a muttered incantation, the elderly wizard waved his wand over the two of them; Harry watched in fascination as the elaborate wand work wove patterns of colored strands of magic between him and his father. The colored lines pulsed around them for a moment, then a blue strand encircled the tall, raven-haired man and turned a pure, glowing white as it extended to encircle Harry as well. There were several gasps in the room as the relation between father and son was proven, but Harry ignored them as he favored his father with a brilliant smile.

The aura faded as Professor Dumbledore picked up a heavy roll of parchment from the table beside the pensieve, and signed it with a flourish. Remus Lupin and Minerva McGonagall stepped forward to sign as witnesses to what Harry already knew was the request to reinstate his original birth certificate naming both his fathers, and to transfer legal custody of him to Severus immediately. Harry watched as his father bent to sign his name, then moved to sign his new name on the line the Headmaster indicated. When he finished and laid down the quill, the parchment rolled itself up and disappeared in a flash of gold, and Harry stepped back in surprise.

“Portkey spell, Harry, takes the parchment directly to the proper department at the Ministry of Magic,” Mister Weasley told him as he walked up to congratulate father and son.

Severus accepted the warm handshake from Arthur Weasley, but was completely unprepared when Molly to threw her arms around him. Enduring the unexpected gesture, he was surprised by the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach as the plump witch released him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the two younger witches threw their arms around Harry and hugged him tightly. Lupin stood beside the teenager and patted his shoulder. Molly hugged Harry enthusiastically, and Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, but the youngest Weasley boy just stood staring at him. An arm slipped through his, and he looked down at Minerva McGonagall, a faint smile softening her usually severe face.

“I don’t know whether to congratulate you, Severus, or recommend you start brewing plenty of headache potion,” she shook her head. “You don’t know how many times over the years I have wished for Harry to have a parent to assist him. And me!” She looked up at him. “Did you know that he gave the Weasley twins his Tri-Wizard winnings to finance their shop? Or that he taught an illegal organization of fellow students last year in Defense against the Dark Arts? He managed to turn Longbottom into an accomplished dueler, actually.”

Patting his arm, Minerva walked away, leaving a bemused Severus to follow in her wake to the doorway, then down the steps to the kitchen. As he considered the conversation he would be having with his offspring, his eyes followed Ronald Weasley, taking in the dark frown on the teen’s face. The two teenaged girls were talking non-stop as they moved down the stairs. Harry allowed himself to be ushered along, with Weasley trailing behind. Severus knew the house-elves would be done setting up and decorating the room for Harry’s birthday party, and he was determined that nothing would spoil it. 

Harry followed Ginny and Hermione as they walked down the stairs towards the kitchen, barely hearing what they were saying as he thought about Ron’s reaction to the news. The redheaded teen had not said a word since they had finished signing the scroll, just angrily folded his arms over his chest and followed them. He knew how his friend felt about the Potions master, how they had both felt after the events of last term, but Harry had thought that Ron would at least be happy that he had a father. His mind brought forth the memory of Ron’s reaction when his name spewed from the Goblet of Fire in their fourth year, and a feeling of sadness welled up in him.

Stepping through the doorway into the kitchen, Harry stopped suddenly. The long table was set with a scarlet tablecloth, golden plates, and platters piled high with his favorite foods. Streamers of gold and red hung from the ceiling, and a banner that flashed gold on red writing, proclaimed “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY” was fixed to the front of the fireplace. A pile of presents sat on a small table at one end of the room, and a large birthday cake sat in the center of the long kitchen table. Harry took it all in, and felt a moment of panic. He’d never had anyone help him celebrate his birthday before, and he had no idea what to do.

A pair of hands descended on his shoulders, and Harry looked up into concerned dark eyes. He rested his head against his father’s shoulder, and the panic eased. The others surged around them, exclaiming over the decorations and moving to the table. Ron seemed to forget his mood in favor of food, and sat down eagerly, while the others positioned themselves, but stood waiting.

“We will eat first, Harry, and then have presents and cake.” 

Harry nodded in relief and allowed Severus to direct him to a seat between Ron and Hermione. Everyone followed his example and sat, diving into the delicious food. The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table in quiet murmurs as everyone ate. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Missus Weasley lean across Professor McGonagall to speak to the Potions master, gesturing at Harry with a chicken leg, and he wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or not. Although the food was excellent, Harry found that he wasn’t very hungry. Because he was conscious of several pair of eyes watching him, he forced himself to swallow a few bites.

“So, you’re not going to let the slimy git just take over, are you, Harry?” Ron leaned over to whisper to him, mouth full of food. “It could all be part of some plot of You-Know-Who?”

“Ron, I…”

“You could be under the Imperius or something, mate! It’s Snape, after all, you know, the Death Eater!” Ron’s voice was rising.

“I don’t…”

“Maybe we can hide you here or something, until whatever he used wears off!”

Harry was sputtering with anger as Ron kept cutting him off, and he had his wand in his hand before he knew it. “ _Silencio_!” He muttered before gripping the front of Ron’s shirt, and leaning in, annunciating his words sharply. “He is NOT a Death Eater! Ron, you can rant and rave about Professor Snape, our Potions teacher all you want, but I would ask you to speak of Severus Snape, my father, in the same respectful manner that I speak of your dad! My father is an ex-Death Eater, former spy for the Light, and a courageous man who gave up everything because he was afraid his spying would endanger the people he loved!”

Taking a deep breath, Harry looked into his friend’s shocked eyes. “I have envied you your family since the day we met, Ron, the closeness, the love, and even the scolding, because that meant they cared about you. Please, don’t make something evil out of the one thing I have always wanted and never dreamed of having, a family of my own.”

Dropping his hand and muttering the counter-curse, Harry had tucked his wand back into his pocket before he realized that he had just performed magic out of school. His eyes widened in horror as they darted up to find the onyx eyes of his father. The smirk on Severus’ face was directed at Ron, he saw, but the all-seeing eyes told him they would be discussing this later. Harry gulped, wondering what the older wizard would do to punish him, as he surely did not have a cupboard to lock Harry in. 

Severus cleared his throat, not caring for the look of panic Harry had just shot him. He knew that the house they were in had many protective fields and wards built around it, and doubted one simple spell would slip through them to the Ministry of Magic. Sending another dark scowl at the Weasley spawn, he stood up gracefully and moved toward his son.

“Harry, I believe it is time for you to open your presents.”

The teenager just stared at him, and Severus found himself appealing wordlessly to his mentor, having never had a birthday party either. Dumbledore chortled happily, then summoned a small pink and green wrapped box from the stack of presents.

“Harry, my boy, open mine first, if you will.”

Catching the present, Harry opened it carefully, amid groans from the other teenagers, to find a delicate silver sphere in the box. He studied it for a moment before looking up to meet the twinkling blue eyes.

“It’s a Dark magic detector, Harry. It will change color in the presence of someone who used Dark magic,” the Headmaster explained.

“Thank you, Professor!” Harry exclaimed, gently setting the instrument back in the box.

Harry opened the packages as they were presented to him and was astounded at the gifts he was given: a new edition of _Defending against Dark Curses_ from Hermione, a wand holster for his arm from Ron and Ginny, a box of Weasley Wheezes from the twins, rock cakes and sweets from Hagrid, a box of homemade fudge from the Weasleys, a book called _Defensive Potions_ from Remus, and a tin of his favorite shortbread biscuits from Professor McGonagall. A large box wrapped in green, shimmery paper settled at his feet, a smaller box wrapped in silver on top of it. Looking at the tag, Harry could see if was from his papa, and tore into the little box happily. A golden ball with fluttery wings jumped out, and Harry just caught it.

“A Snitch! You got me my own Snitch, Papa! Thank you!” Harry turned to his father, who stood next to his chair, and threw his arms around his waist. The affectionate gesture had the Potions master’s cheeks turning pink.

Reaching back down, Harry stripped the other present of its paper in a single, violent move that had everyone laughing. There was a handsome wooden case underneath; ‘Harry J Potter-Snape’ was written in gold on the top, and inside was a set of Quidditch balls and bats. Harry just sat and stared at them, as Ron gasped in delight, reaching to pull out the Quaffle. Severus was pleased with the look of pleasure on his son’s face, and ran a hand through the unruly hair as Harry once again threw his arms around his waist. Those around the table who might have had doubts about whether the new relationship between the two would work out, were reassured by the enthusiasm of the teenager, and by the small smile that lingered on the Potions master’s face.

* * *


	9. Visions and Dark Marks

* * *

The dark stone chamber was dim, a single sconce on the wall lighting the room with the faint flicker of a torch. A cowering figure in a tattered black robe knelt at his feet. Harry looked down on him from his towing height, fury rising in him at the disrespect of this scum of a spy, appearing before him in a drunken state, unwashed, and clothed in rags.

“I did not summon you, spy, yet you have arrived at my residence without permission?”

“My Lord, I bring important news from that muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore.” 

The simpering voice grated on his nerves, and Harry rolled his wand between long, white fingers. “Speak then, spy, before you regret wasting my time.”

“It’s the Potter brat, my Lord; he’s not, you see. Not a Potter, that is. It was some strange potion thing, but he’s…”

“Silence, you imbecile! Cease your babbling and tell me what Dumbledore said!”

“Harry Potter is currently staying at Hogwarts with his father, Severus Snape.”

“What?” Harry snarled, his scarlet eyes flaring, his wand tip coming to bear on the prostrate figure.

“It is true, my Lord, proven with a Paternity Spell. Snape is the father of the Boy Who Lived,” Mundungus Fletcher whimpered. “I came immediately to tell you.”

A cold rage began to build in Harry. He could not believe that Severus, whom he had trusted, had managed to lie and conceal a secret of this magnitude. 

“You said you would reward me for news, my Lord.”

The simpering voice made him seethe. “Oh, yes, you will be rewarded well for your information on treachery of such magnitude, my spy, as you were last summer when you conveniently left the brat to Dementors,” he raised his voice slightly. “Wormtail!”

The short, pudgy figure of Peter Pettigrew slunk into the chamber. “Yes, Master?”

“Give me your arm,” he snarled, pressing his finger to the Dark Mark on the man’s forearm. “Now, Wormtail, if you will get the pouch? Our spy needs his just reward.”

The diminutive wizard bowed out of the room, obeying his Master immediately. Harry twirled his wand.

“And here is a bonus for you, Fletcher. _Crucio_!”

* * *

Harry came out of the vision screaming, his forehead searing with pain, and his stomach churning. Throwing himself half over the side of his bed, he retched. With trembling fingers, he reached for his glasses and wand to clean up the pool of sick. By the time he had started towards the door, it had swung open to reveal the Potions Master.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Severus asked as he stopped in the doorway, waving up the light, a dark dressing gown hanging from his shoulders. 

“Your Dark Mark, does it hurt?” Harry croaked, grasping at his father’s arm, pushing up his sleeve frantically.

Severus gently restrained his son’s hands and tugged him back toward the bed, where they both sat down. Seeing the pale face, sweat-matted hair, and feverish eyes, he realized there might be some significance to Harry’s concerns, so he allowed Harry to examine the black skull on his left forearm. For the first time, they both noticed that the serpent that had been within the skull was gone. The Potions Master gasped and brought his arm closer to his face, further examining the Mark, but only an empty skull remained. He looked at the young wizard, took in his still pale face and remembered that he’d been awakened by the boy’s screams. 

“What happened, Harry? I heard you screaming.”

“Vision,” he muttered, rubbing his scar absently. “Mundungus Fletcher was telling Voldemort that I was here with you, and you were my father. He called Wormtail and pressed on the Dark Mark, like he did that night in the graveyard when he summoned all the Death Eaters, like he was trying to send for you for an explanation. Then he put the Cruciatus on Fletcher, called him his spy.”

“How is your head now?”

Harry looked up. “It still hurts a bit, but not as bad as it did. Papa, does Professor Dumbledore know that Dung is a spy?”

Severus looked over Harry carefully before pulling the covers down and gesturing for the teenager to get in. “I am going to fetch a potion to help your head, do not move.”

Moving to the wardrobe in his own room, Snape removed a vial of analgesic and a light sleeping draught before picking up a small velvet box from his bedside table. Severus took those back to where Harry was hunched under his blanket, still rubbing at his scar. He silently handed the vials to his son, as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“The blue one will help your head and stomach, and the amber one is a sleeping draught. To answer your question, I am not sure why, Harry, but the Dark Mark has not burned since your last vision. I had not noticed the alteration to the tattoo until tonight, so I am unable to tell you when the serpent disappeared, although I suspect it was something you did when you grabbed my arm after that vision.”

Harry looked at him puzzled, handing back the two empty vials. “I don’t remember doing anything, except wishing that Voldemort would leave you alone.” 

Nodding, the older wizard studied the skull on his forearm again before he spoke. “I am aware that the Headmaster believes we have had a spy in the Order for some time, and Fletcher’s ill-timed dereliction of duty last summer raised many suspicions. I am not convinced that he is the only spy with in the Order’s ranks, however, and would caution you not to accompany anyone, anywhere, without Albus’ or my knowledge.” 

“All right, Papa,” Harry yawned, his eyes still on his father.

Severus drew the velvet box out of the pocket of his robe and opened it to display two men’s signet rings, one silver, and the other woven silver and gold. Taking them out, the older wizard held them for Harry to see.

“I meant to give you these when we returned this afternoon, but forgot. This ring is yours, son, and it reflects the heritage that is yours: the silver to represent Slytherin and the gold for Gryffindor, as you are a mixture of both Houses. The emerald represents your mother.” He held the ring so Harry could see the facets of the stone, as well as the stylized ‘P’ on one side and ‘S’ on the other. “The letters represent your fathers. This ring has protection and locating spells on it, and will grow warm if I am in trouble or pain. My ring is similar, with the emerald representing you, the snake on one side for Slytherin, and of course, the ‘S’ for Snape. My ring will grow warm if you need me in any way.”

Harry took the ring from his father and studied the exquisite workmanship. The ring had been crafted such that the stunning weave of metals almost appeared to be snakes entwined around each other. He watched as Severus slid his ring onto the ring finger of his right hand and did the same with his ring. It glowed golden for a moment before sizing to his finger with a last reassuring pulse of warmth from the metal. 

“Thank you, Papa. It’s beautiful.”

“The jeweler in Hogsmeade is very talented; I was very pleased with his craftsmanship.” 

Severus took Harry’s hand and studied the ring, deciding it was just the right size, neither too chunky nor too feminine looking. Another broad yawn split his son’s face, and the Potions master stood and helped settle the teen under the light covers. Brushing the hair back from the boy’s forehead, he waved the candles out.

“Good night, Harry. We will speak to the Headmaster in the morning.”

“Good night, Papa.”

* * *

The morning dawned sunny and warm. Severus had requested waffles and sausages from the kitchens, which Harry ate with enthusiasm, deciding he definitely like these better than the scrambled eggs and porridge that he’d been getting. Finishing, Harry banished the dishes as he had been taught, then sat down on the couch with a book. The older wizard had disappeared into his bedroom for a moment. He watched as his father returned, carefully slipping on his black teaching robes over his comfortable trousers and pullover.

“Are you going up to speak with Professor Dumbledore?”

“I am,” he answered, his dark eyes studied his son’s face. “Am I correct in assuming you wish to accompany me?”

“If you want me to,” Harry said, looking down at his jeans and long sleeved t-shirt, worn against the chill of the dungeons. “Am I all right wearing these?”

Severus studied him with a faint smile. “I dare say you are appropriately attired for the summer holidays. The other teachers still at Hogwarts know you are here by now, so no one should be surprised to see you.”

Harry grabbed the wand holster he had purchased when they were in Hogsmeade, and fastened it to his right forearm. He followed the Potions master out into the dungeon hallway, flexing his fingers to trigger the mechanism, and enjoying the way his wand slid smoothly into his palm. They strolled silently through the hallway; Harry struggled to keep up with his father, envious of the unhurried stride of the taller wizard, and the way his robes billowed around him. Trying to match the walk, Harry was brought to a stop by a hand on his arm in front of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office.

“Candy floss,” his father muttered with a frown, annoyed by the frivolous password.

The stairway took them up to the oak door, which opened as they approached. Stepping inside, Severus moved to sit in the chair furthest from the door as Harry settled into the other. The scarlet chintz armchairs and matching puffs clashed horribly with the gauzy orange and silver robes the elder wizard sported. Albus Dumbledore smiled softly at father and son, looking very pleased at the sight of his two favorite young men sitting comfortable side by side.

“Severus, Harry, how are you this fine August morning?”

“We are well, thank you, Albus, but Harry suffered through a vision early this morning which he felt needed to be relayed to you.”

Harry made sure to make eye contact with the bright blue eyes that peered at him over the top of the half-moon spectacles; the Headmaster’s lined face was open and reassuring. Maintaining the contact, the young Gryffindor quickly searched his mind, pleased with the absence of the evil that had plagued him at the end of the last term, his newly acquired Occlumency skills shielding his mind. Flashing a triumphant smile at his father, he looked back at the Headmaster.

“Mundungus Fletcher told Voldemort about Papa and me, and he was very angry that he had been deceived for so long,” Harry told him quietly. “Voldemort acted as if the deception was an insult to his intelligence, because he thought his Legilimency skills are so good that Papa should never have been able to hide this from him.”

“The Dark Lord is correct, which was one of the main factors that caused us to take the drastic actions we did fifteen years ago,” his father agreed.

Professor Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes shuttered and his forehead furrowed in thought. “Was there anything else that you remember, Harry?”

“No, I don’t—wait, the Dark Mark!” He turned towards his father, indicating the man’s left arm with a hand. “Voldemort summoned Wormtail and used his Dark Mark to try to make Papa’s Mark hurt, but it didn’t!”

The Headmaster’s eyes moved to his Potions Master. “Severus?”

“I am not sure how, Albus, but it would appear the serpent in my Mark has disappeared.”

Dumbledore looked intrigued, particularly when he caught the slight twitch of the dark-haired man’s eyes as they darted toward his son and then away.

“That is interesting, Severus, rather mysterious,” he said pleasantly. “Is that all you can think of, Harry?”

The teenager had watched the two older men as they exchanged looks and stifled the frustrated sigh that threatened to escape. 

“Yes, sir, I believe so.” 

“Very well, my boy. Why don’t you go see if Dobby has any chocolate cake left? He prepared a splendid pudding for my dinner last night.”

Harry knew when he was being dismissed, and stifled another sigh as well as the protest that leapt to mind. It was very frustrating to know that the two wanted him out of the way so that they could talk about him. This having a parent thing was taking a little getting used to, he thought, before another idea struck him.

“Papa, is it all right if I go down and visit Hagrid while you are up here?” 

His father looked at him. He knew that Harry should be safe anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds, but was uneasy about having him that far away from the castle on his own.

“Why don’t you wait for me in the front courtyard, Harry? We will walk down to Hagrid’s together as soon as I am done.”

Trying not to bristle at the restriction, Harry nodded and muttered his goodbyes. He fled out the door, making his way down the moving staircase and back down the corridor at a rapid pace. In the past, he would not have even asked, he simply would have gone where he wanted when he wanted. Harry tried to reason out why his father wouldn’t want him roaming the grounds. Harry understood that when school was in session, he would have to be careful around other students, particularly the Slytherins, but these parental restrictions would take some getting used to. 

Frowning as he went down the entry steps and into the courtyard, Harry automatically sought the far corner where he, Ron, and Hermione had staked out a spot since there first year. With a half smile, Harry remembered Professor Snape coming across them one day in their first year, taking points and confiscating the Quidditch book he had borrowed from the Hogwarts library. Lifting his face to the warm sunshine filtering into the ‘Gryffindor Corner’ as Harry thought of it, his mind drifted to his best friends who were together at Grimmauld Place with their parents this summer.

“You make it much too easy for me, young Harry, to take you back to my Master.” 

The familiar voice made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and Harry whirled around to face the speaker. Peter Pettigrew, dressed much as he had been when Harry first met his human form, albeit a bit cleaner, sneered at him from the edge of the flagstoned area below the main stairs. Moving sideways, his wand sliding neatly into his hand, Harry managed to avoid most of the purple spell light that streaked towards him. The spell struck his left arm and shoulder with the pain of a bludger, and Harry gritted his teeth as he rolled over and fired a spell.

“Stupefy!”

The rat conjured a weak shield, barely strong enough to divert the spell as he moved towards Harry, but the teenager had no intension of keeping still. Getting his feet underneath him, he dived toward the diminutive wizard, who scampered out of the way.

“ _Expelliarmus! Crucio_!”

* * *

“Albus, if it was Harry who drove the serpent out of the Dark Mark, by the sheer wish to keep it from hurting me, what magnitude of magic does he…” Severus snapped his mouth shut as the ring on his right finger suddenly pulsed warmly, and he was out of his seat before he realized it. “Harry!”

Knowing without looking to see if his mentor had followed, Severus bolted from the room. Quickly negotiating the moving staircase, he ran through the corridors, his mind conjuring up pictures of Harry’s past misadventures, and he lengthened his stride. He crossed the Entrance Hall and bounded down the stairs, veering to the right toward the alcove that he remembered the Gryffindor trio frequenting. As he came around the corner, Severus’ heart lodged in his throat; his son lay twitching under what was unquestionably the Cruciatus Curse. 

Pain ripped through his nerve endings, bowing Harry’s body as his muscles contracted under the effect of the Unforgivable curse. Wormtail, however, was not nearly as powerful as Voldemort, and Harry was able to overcome his curse. With a phenomenal effort, Harry shook off the spell and rolled to his knees, throwing out his right hand, sunlight glinting off the signet ring on his finger.

“ _Accio_ wands! _Immobulus_!”

The two wands Pettigrew held jerked from his hand and flew towards Harry, and Voldemort’s henchman froze in place, an expression of disbelief on his face. The wands slapped into Harry’s outstretched hand with a resounding thwap! 

“ _Petrificus Totalus_! _Incarcerous_!” Severus vaulted over the frozen and bound Death Eater without a second glance, dropping to his knees beside the teenager who still knelt on the flagstones. “Harry!”

Lifting his head, emerald eyes met the concerned onyx, overwhelming relief evident in the depths of both. “Papa, I didn’t leave the courtyard, I swear! He appeared behind me!”

Severus steadied his son with a hand on his arm, not surprised to find the teen trembling. He did not believe Harry had suffered under the torture of the Cruciatus for too long, given the unbelievable way he had broken free of its influence, but it had affected him. As the older wizard attempted to help Harry stand, tugging on his left arm, the boy paled and gasped, leaning heavily into his father.

“What is it, Harry? What happened?” The Potions Master slipped a supporting arm over the seemingly uninjured right shoulder to steady the young man. “Can you walk on your own?”

“I think I can walk, if you help me,” Harry told him with a grimace, as the numbness in his left side was being replaced by a steady throb of pain. “I don’t know the name of the spell Wormtail used, but I it looked like the one that injured Hermione at the…last month.”

“Poppy will know then,” his father confirmed before gently urging him forward. “Come along then.”

Harry looked up to see Professor Dumbledore levitate the petrified Animagus in front of them, moving the prisoner out of the way. The bright blue eyes had taken on a flinty quality as they studied Harry’s pale, pain-filled face.

“Severus?” the Headmaster asked an unspoken question with a word and a look.

“Brushed by one of the milder dark curses, Albus,” Severus sneered at the wild-eyed man floating past. “Harry was also subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, which he successfully overcame. Pettigrew never was much of a wizard, and certainly is no match for Harry.”

Harry smiled through his pain at the pride he heard in his father’s voice. They continued the conversation as they moved toward the oak Entrance doors. 

“I will come down after you have that young man settled in, Severus, as I will need your help to come up with a ward that will protect Hogwarts from Animagi in their animal forms.”

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue at Harry, but was stopped from any commentary by the dark look on his father’s face. She gasped as Harry briefly described what had happened and set to work on healing him of his injuries. The young Gryffindor was particularly thankful that his father was able to talk the medi-witch out of making him stay in the hospital wing overnight, and promised to put him right to bed when they returned to their chambers. True to his word, the Potions master of old resurfaced in all his snarling glory when Harry tried to talk him out of spending the rest of the day in bed. Harry had learned not to fear the man’s snark in the past few weeks, and pushed the vial of pain potion away several times, knowing full well it was the one he’d helped lace with sleeping draught.

“POTTER! You will drink the potion, NOW!” his father finally roared in frustration.

Sighing in defeat, Harry swallowed the vile tasting liquid and thrust the vial back into the older man’s hand. “And that’s Potter-Snape, if you please!”

Noting the boy’s eyes already lowering, Severus was flooded with relief that his precocious offspring was going to be all right. “As it should be, my son, and well done, Harry, well done.”

* * *


	10. Picnic and flying

* * *

Harry’s eyes followed his father as he moved gracefully around the potions lab, simultaneously tending three bubbling cauldrons. With a silent sigh, the young Gryffindor returned his attention to the pile of shrivelfigs he was skinning, deciding that while this was better than being locked in a cupboard, it was not the activity best suited to a warm summer’s day. He wasn’t being punished, technically, although his father had set him down and spoken to him again about the underage use of magic. Harry had apologized for the slip on his birthday, and promised not to do it again. It hadn’t been his fault that Wormtail had shown up yesterday morning. He’d slept most of the day away, waking only to be fed dinner and tucked back into bed with a book. The next time he’d awoken, it had been morning again. 

With the term less than four weeks away, Harry was feeling restless. It had been the best summer he could ever remember, even better than last summer, when he was locked in that awful house on Grimmauld Place, cleaning day in and day out, with his sullen godfather and well-meaning friends. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes, and Harry angrily brushed at them with the sleeve of his shirt, his hands covered in shrivelfig juice. It had been weeks since he’d been plagued by the type of recurring nightmares he’d suffered for years, and he had hoped that they were a thing of the past, but his sleep the night before had been filled with images of Cedric, Wormtail, the graveyard, Voldemort, and Sirius as he fell through the veil. Blaming the rat’s untimely appearance yesterday, Harry was irritated that Pettigrew had caused him so much inner turmoil. Only his father’s reassuring touch had comforted him in the night, allowing him to settle back down to sleep.

The rational part of his brain argued that with Peter Pettigrew in custody, Sirius’ name would finally be cleared of the charges from fifteen years ago. Knowing that it was something his godfather would have cherished, Harry was pleased that he’d had a part in the capture. Stirring up his emotions was an unwelcome side effect, but Wormtail’s imprisonment pacified the hatred of the rat that had manifested itself when Harry had learned his true role in the death of his mum and dad, as well as his contribution to Voldemort’s resurrection. 

“Harry, that shrivelfig has now been mangled beyond recognition, and is unsatisfactory for anything other than jam. Would you like a new one to massacre?”

His father’s calm voice pulled Harry from his thoughts, and the young Gryffindor glanced down at the pulpy mess under his fingers. Looking up, Harry could read the concern in the dark gaze as the Potions master watched him while stirring one of the simmering potions. Shaking his head, the young man cleaned up the mess he made, and began to efficiently skin the pile of figs in front of him. Keeping his mind on the job at hand, Harry made his way through the pile in less than forty-five minutes. He cleaned up the worktable as Severus finished his brewing and decanted the potions into vials. Stepping over to lend a hand, Harry held the vials as his father poured.

“Thank you, Harry,” Severus told his son as he washed his hands at the sink, the onyx eyes resting on the down-turned face. “Shall we have our lunch outside?”

Harry’s head came up and a smile lit up his features. “Yes, please, that would be nice.”

Sending Harry into his room to change his clothes, the Potions master threw a pinch of Floo powder in the fireplace and spoke to Dobby, arranging for a picnic lunch. Moving to his own room, Severus changed out of his teaching robes and into a pair of muggle jeans and a royal blue, long-sleeved pullover. The jeans were old and worn to softness, and were the only pair of the blasted things Severus had ever actually enjoyed wearing. He removed a lightweight cloak from his closet and tied back his hair. With a smirk on his face, the Slytherin walked back into the sitting room, anticipating his son’s reaction.

Harry was looking out the window to the right of the fireplace that looked over the grassy area towards the lake, at the sunlight that shimmered on the gleaming water. Turning as he heard his father come into the room, Harry felt his chin hit his chest when he took in the sight of his stoic Potions master in blue jeans and a tee shirt. With his hair tied back low on his neck, the man could easily have passed as Harry’s older brother, and he was amazed at the difference. The smirk on his face told Harry the man was enjoying his reaction, and he narrowed his eyes at him in a glare worthy of the Snape name.

Severus laughed at the look on his son’s face, and moved to brush the fringe off his forehead. 

“Come, I want to see if you have grown,” he said as he directed Harry towards the bathroom.

Standing against the doorframe in bathroom, Harry watched in the mirror as Severus held his head and carefully straightened it, using the edge of a thumbnail to mark the spot. Harry stepped away and turned to look, as his father placed his hands on Harry shoulders.

“Look, Papa, how much I’ve grown in just the past two weeks!”

“Indeed, Harry, you may well grow to be as tall as James was,” Severus told him in a teasing voice. “I will always be taller, however.”

“I could still get as tall as you are someday!” Harry told him indignantly as the older wizard steered him out of the bathroom and back into the sitting room.

“Do you have your cloak?” Severus asked him, reaching for his own.

Harry hurried back into his room to get his summer cloak and followed his father out the door. He was puzzled to see him turn down an unfamiliar hallway, which led to a flight of stairs. Ascending them, they came to a heavy oak doorway that opened silently when his father muttered a password. Stepping out into a small courtyard lined flagstones, Harry was amazed as he recognized the sweeping slope of the grassy lawn and the view of the lake.

“This is the same view as the window in your rooms, Papa!”

“Our rooms, Harry. And yes, like the ceiling of the Great Hall, the window is enchanted to show me this view, as our rooms are actually underground.” 

Severus led the way down a flagstone walkway toward a tree on the shore of the lake. As they drew closer, Harry could see a blanket spread out underneath the tree, half of it shaded from the sun. A large basket sat at one end of the blanket. Laying his cloak on the blanket, Harry moved to peer into it. A plate full of sandwiches, several different kinds of fruit, a bag of crisps, a small chocolate cake, and two flasks filled the wicker basket. He looked up at his father expectantly.

“Do not dither, son, I am hungry,” Severus told him with a smile. He reached for the basket and helped Harry start to unload it.

They ate sitting side by side on the blanket, watching the giant squid chase something through the shallows, Harry laughing as birds flew off the surface as the squid swept by. The day was warm, and Harry lifted his face to the sun, loving its warm caress. He did not hear Severus as he whispered a spell that repacked the basket and banished it back to the kitchens. 

“Harry?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Would you like to go flying?”

Harry opened his eyes and looked around to see his father holding his Firebolt, and a second, identical broom in his hands, his set of Quidditch balls sitting near the side of the blanket. Severus extended Harry’s broom to him, and bent to pick up his cloak. Grabbing his cloak up from the blanket, Harry watched as his father banished the blanket and levitated the small trunk He fell into step with the older wizard as they walked toward the Quidditch pitch.

Harry glanced at the Firebolt his father carried and saw that it was a newer model than his. “That’s a nice broom, Papa. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly, except for the game you refereed my first year.”

“I don’t often get the chance to fly for enjoyment, Harry, but when I do, I like a broom that is of superior quality and maneuverability.”

“You just like it because it’s fast!” Harry told him knowingly, a cocky grin on his face.

Severus smiled at him. “Have I told you what a cheeky brat you are?”

“I believe you have mentioned it on several occasions.” 

They stopped at the edge of the pitch, where the Potions master set down the small trunk. Harry fastened his cloak on, pausing when his father put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Looking up, he could see the concern in the obsidian eyes.

“Thank you for your assistance this morning, Harry, it certainly helped me out.” The older wizard studied his face intently. “Are you feeling better now?”

Harry nodded. “I was just thinking of all the really terrible things that Peter Pettigrew has caused to happen in my life, and I didn’t know whether to be mad or sad.”

Severus nodded, himself a victim of the Animagus in more than one way over the years. “Come, I will race you to the end of the pitch and back.” 

Securing the cloak around his shoulders, Severus mounted his broom and gave his son a nod to indicate his readiness. Kicking off hard, the two launched into the air, Harry giving a wild yell of pleasure as they both gained speed, soaring up towards the opposite goals. The wind ruffled his hair and the ends of his cloak snapped as he flattened himself on his broom. The exhilaration he always felt when flying filled him, as out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see his father draw up beside him leaning low as well. The Slytherin raced his broom like he did everything, Harry thought disgustedly, with an inherently elegant grace. Somehow, he mused that particular gene was one he’d missed getting. As they looped the rings, Harry was slightly ahead, and he threw a cheeky grin at his father.

Severus leaned further down over his Firebolt, enjoying the sheer pleasure of the racing broom cutting through the air. He hadn’t flown this way in years, and had forgotten the rush of adrenalin, and the thrill of speeding towards the distant target. He found himself grinning in response to his son’s smirk, watching the boy fondly. Harry was a natural flyer; Severus had known that from the first time he saw the young Gryffindor fly in his first year. The effortless way he moved through the air delighted the older wizard, and was reminiscent of watching James fly when they were boys. Proud of his own abilities on a broom, Severus realized that Harry had probably inherited both of their abilities, making him better than both of them.

Rushing headlong towards the hoops, Severus saw Harry stretch out along his broom, coaxing enough extra speed out of the older Firebolt to pull slightly ahead of him, as the swooped around the goals. The whoop of triumph Harry let out drew a genuine laugh out of the normally aloof man. It was good to hear such a normal teenaged sound from Harry. Severus had heard the sounds of his nightmares during the night. He had gone in to sit beside the bed, stroking the sweat-damped hair until the teen had calmed and settled back into sleep. Harry had been subdued that morning, and Severus had wanted nothing more that to draw him out of the sadness that had shadowed his eyes. The boy had precious few treats in his life up until now, and his father was determined to follow the advice of one know-it-all Gryffindor, and treat his son to some of the simple pleasures he’d never known.

“I won!” Harry looped around his papa as they slowed to a more reasonable speed. 

“Indeed you did, but only just, my son,” Severus smirked, allowing Harry to see the mischief in his eyes. “Would you like to get the Quaffle from your trunk, and see if you can remember what it is for?”

Zooming down, Harry retrieved the red ball and flew back up, tossing it to the older man, his eyes sparkling and cheeks red. They spent an hour flying between goals, passing the quaffle back and forth, laughing together as one would drop the ball, and Harry streaked after it. In all the years the teenager had been at Hogwarts, Severus had never seen him look as open or happy as he was during their play. Waving his son off, Severus dodged an incoming owl, and alit in the staff stands. He relaxed on a bench as he watched his son chase the Snitch, which he’d gotten from the trunk when he replaced the quaffle. The glee on the young face reminded him of Albus Dumbledore’s words that day he’s received Lily’s parcel, about underestimating Harry’s capacity to love, and he had to agree now.

A glint of gold caught his eye and Severus watched as his son streaked across the pitch, diving from well above the top of the goal post towards the ground. He felt his heart stutter as the teenager dropped toward the ground like a speeding comet. Just as the older man leapt to his feet, sure Harry was going to splatter himself across the earth, the boy leveled off and shot back up, the Snitch struggling in his right hand. Turning towards him, Harry flashed him a brilliant smile and soared upwards, doing a loop and a Sloth Grip Roll in celebration. The Potions master drew in a deep breath and tried to calm his pounding heart. Climbing on his broom, he flew towards the ground where the grinning Gryffindor had just landed.

“Harry James Potter-Snape! You idiotic bloody Gryffindor! Don’t you EVER do anything like that again!”

Harry took an involuntary step backwards as his father stalked towards him, his face red and reminiscent of Uncle Vernon’s. A sudden thought struck him and made him smile, even as Severus stopped in front of him.

“Did you hear me?” the older man snapped between gritted teeth.

“Yes, of course I heard you; you yelled it at me,” Harry told him, the grin becoming wider. “And you sounded just like Missus Weasley does when Ron does something stupid.”

Severus frowned, taken back by the boy’s reaction to his reprimand.

Harry suddenly found the grass very interesting. “Missus Weasley yells at her kids because she doesn’t want them to get hurt. Like with Ron and the flying car, it meant…” 

“Meant what!”

“It meant she loves him,” he muttered, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

The anger drained out of him as he unraveled the meaning of Harry’s words, and Severus stepped closer. Pulling the boy to his chest, he hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to the tousled hair.

“Foolish Gryffindor, you bloody well scared the hell out of me! And yes, I do love you!”

His face buried in his father’s cloak, Harry grinned and muttered, “Sorry.”

Severus pushed him to arms length, hands still gripping the thin shoulders, and scowled at him darkly. “You will indeed be sorry if you injure yourself!” He searched his mind for the correct term. “I would be forced to…ground you!”

Harry blinked at him once, and nodded hesitantly. “All right, but…”

“But what?”

“What exactly does that mean, being grounded?”

It was Severus’ turn to blink. “It means the removal of your privileges for a set amount of time, and some type of arduous chores to complete.”

He watched as his son’s face paled and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “How were you punished at the Dursleys?”

Feeling a bit relieved by his father’s explanation, which did not include locking him anywhere, Harry shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Usually they locked me in my cupboard or Dudley’s second bedroom, depending on how bad they felt my offense was, took away the light bulb, and stopped letting me eat. Ouch!” 

Realizing it was his fingers causing the teenager pain, Severus relaxed his grip. “Did they ever strike you, son?”

“Uncle Vernon would hit me every once in awhile, and Aunt Petunia slapped me when I was little, but it was my cousin who made me his personal punching bag.”

Severus felt a renewed surge of rage, and struggled to keep it from showing. He would definitely be dealing with the Dursleys soon, he thought darkly.

“I can assure you that you will not be locked up, nor will food ever be withheld from you, and while I may still put you over my knee and spank you should your behavior warrant it, I can not think of any circumstances that warrants beating a child!”

Harry was pleased to hear this, and grinned up at his father in approval. “Missus Weasley pulls on Ron’s ear when he gets caught being really stupid,” he offered helpfully.

The Potions master was saved from trying to think of an appropriate response by the appearance of the Headmaster at the edge of the pitch. The foreboding look on the older man’s face caused Severus to tug his son to his side, where Harry leaned into him, reassuring them both.

“Albus, what has happened?”

The clear blue eyes held no twinkle when the powerful wizard joined them.

“Hello, Harry. I am afraid I have bad news, Severus. I’ve just had an owl from Amelia Bones, head of Magical Law Enforcement, advising me that Peter Pettigrew and the Auror guarding him were both found dead this morning.”

Harry sagged against his father, a shiver running down his spine, and the arm around his shoulders tightened. His thoughts were in turmoil as he heard the Potions master speak.

“How could that happen, Albus? How is it possible that someone could get through the wards of the Ministry and into a high security holding cell, with a guard?”

“No one is sure, my boy, but it appears that both were crushed to death, as if by a large snake.”

Harry gasped, a fragment of one of his nightmares rushing to the front of his mind. He quickly looked up at his father, horror etched into his face.

“I am assuming you saw something of this in your nightmares last night?” Severus asked his son gently.

“Yes,” he nodding, thinking hard. “Just a vague image of a snake wrapped around Wormtail, squeezing the life out of him.”

The Headmaster met his eyes, and Harry stiffened, remembering the last time they had locked eyes. He felt no stirring of hate within him, and relaxed, a relieved smile on his lips. Maybe this meant he was finally getting the hang of Occlumency. 

“It was Nagini, sir; Voldemort possessed her again, and killed them.”

“Yes, Harry, I believe you are right, and it’s good to know that you are doing so well in your training. I see much improvement since June.”

“Yes, sir, I am trying really hard.”

Gathering their belongings, the two younger men accompanied the Headmaster across the wide expanse of lawn towards the entrance of the castle. None of them saw the great serpent with glowing red eyes that slithered out of the Forbidden Forest.

* * *


	11. Serpent in the night

* * *

Something woke him with a start, and Harry sat up in bed, his scar burning ominously. He listened for a moment, but the rooms he shared with his father were silent, and he chided himself for being on edge. Blaming the news of Wormtail’s death for making him jumpy, Harry was about to lie back down when he heard the brush of movement against stone in the hallway outside his bedroom door. As quietly as he could, Harry reached for his glasses and slid them on. The noise came again, further away, as if headed towards his papa’s room. It was an odd noise, Harry thought, tossing back his covers and easing slowly out of bed. It sounded like something was sliding along the floor.

Stepping into the hallway, through the door Severus had insisted be left open in case Harry needed him in the night, the young wizard listened hard. He tiptoed across the hall, following the sound into his father’s bedroom, and halted just inside the door. The noise had stopped; Harry listened hard, hearing only the rustling of the bedcovers, as if something were crawling or sliding across it. Like a snake.

With a gasp, Harry waved his hand as he had seen both his father and the Headmaster do numerous times, and the torches flared. A great serpent slithered across the bedclothes, and as the light flared, it drove its fangs into the sleeping man’s right arm. Severus cried out, yanking his arm away as he rolled to the other side of the bed. As the snake followed, poised to strike a second time, the young wizard again acted without thought to the method or his wandless state.

“ _Stupefy_!”

The snake froze momentarily before breaking the spell and turning its scarlet eyes toward Harry. The scar on his forehead seared white-hot with pain and Harry knew that Voldemort was possessing Nagini. Suddenly Harry’s body exploded in pain, his eyes glowing scarlet, his body no longer under his own control. The part of his brain still able to function saw Nagini move again to strike his father, who was now unconscious and bleeding profusely from the wounds in his upper arm. 

“The traitor will die first, Harry, and at your hand, before I kill you as well.”

The high-pitched, cold voice that issued from his own mouth then laughed, and Harry felt rage well in him. Knowing that anger would only fuel the evil wizard’s power, Harry concentrated on the joy he felt at finding a father alive and ready to love him. Drawing on the love he had already come to feel for the man lying on the bed, Harry raised his hand again.

“ _Vipera Evanesca_!” 

The pain inside him was excruciating. It stole his breath, but he watched with glee as the great ugly serpent on the bed combusted, burning from the inside out. Looking at his father, Harry focused again on the love inside him, felt his magic swirling within his chest, and concentrated on forcing the deadly presence out of his mind. 

“You think you can defeat me, you tiresome little boy? You have no extraordinary powers, Potter, you are nothing!”

The high-pitched voice screamed as Harry pushed with all the power he could draw from inside himself, and directing it at Voldemort. He could feel a sizzle in the nerve-endings in his brain, the pain at a level that had darkness crowding the edges of his consciousness, yet still he pushed with the essence of his magic. Another scream of pain reverberated through his mind, and Harry could not tell whether it was his own or Voldemort’s. The darkness pressed in on him, and suddenly, the searing pain was gone. His stomach churned and his head pounded painfully when Harry opened his eyes. He found himself on his knees near the foot of his father’s bed. Searching through his mind, he was relieved to find no other presence.

A moan from the bed reminded him of his father’s plight, and Harry lurched to his feet. Severus lay face down in the bed. Harry gently turned the older wizard over onto his back and gasped his shock; the amount of blood flowing from the wounds on his arm was staggering. The Potions master was still unconscious, his breathing shallow and his face deathly pale. Running to the bathroom, Harry grabbed a towel, yelling as he ran back.

“Dobby!”

The house-elf appeared instantly, blinking rapidly as if waking abruptly.

“Harry Potter is needing…”

“Dobby!” Harry tried to staunch the flow of blood, pressing the towel tightly against the fangs marks. “I need Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore now! Tell them Voldemort’s snake attacked Papa!”

The diminutive elf was gone with a snap of his fingers, and Harry could only sit on the bed, pulling his father half onto his lap as he tried to stop the bleeding. The thought of losing the man now, after just learning they were family, was more than Harry could bear. He wasn’t about to give up his papa, and told him that over and over as he waited for someone to show up to help him. His own pain forgotten, ignoring the cramping in his hands and fingers, Harry held on, praying to whatever deities watched over wizards and fathers to help Severus pull through. 

A hand fell on his shoulder and Harry jumped, whirling around to find the Headmaster standing by the bed.

“Professor! It was Voldemort; he possessed Nagini again, and bit Papa! Please help me, he’s bleeding really badly.” 

Albus Dumbledore took an assessing look at the his Potions master and instantly turned the bloody towel in to a portkey, taking them directly to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey was ready for them. The mediwitch levitated Severus onto a waiting bed and began to issue instructions to both Harry and the Headmaster. Harry found himself at the head of the bed, supporting his father’s head, holding his shoulders steady as the nurse attempted to stop the bleeding. Professor Dumbledore was dispatched to the supply cabinet for Blood Replenishing Potion and a magical anti-venom potion.

“What type of snake was it that bit Severus, Harry?” she asked, frantically trying to seal the wounds.

“It was Nagini, Lord Voldemort’s snake, ma’am, and I don’t know what kind it was.”

“Well, where is it, so that I can analyze the venom?”

Harry looked up at the witch just as the Headmaster returned. “It’s gone. It was attacking my father, so I burned it up.”

The elderly wizard handed the nurse several vials of potions before taking in the stricken look on Harry’s face. “It’s alright, Harry, we will floo St. Mungo’s and see it their healer can remember what worked with Arthur Weasley last year.” 

Looking relieved, Harry nodded, and then returned his gaze to his father’s face. The mediwitch continued her treatment, her hands and wand not pausing as she gestured to Harry to administer the next potion. Harry gently eased it into Severus’ mouth, stroking his throat to get him to swallow. Nagini’s fangs had pierced the upper arm, leaving twin puncture wounds that the teenager could tell were deep. Wrapping a large bandage around the still seeping wounds, the nurse went off to Floo St. Mungo’s.

Harry moved over to the chair next to the bed, clinging tightly to his father’s uninjured hand. Professor Dumbledore stood beside him, a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Can you tell me what happened, Harry?”

Harry quietly explained what had happened, starting from the moment he woke up, and continuing to the point when the Headmaster had appeared in the Potions Master’s bedroom. There was a moment of quiet, each wizard lost in his own thoughts.

“Harry, where is your wand?” 

Looking up into the serious blue eyes, Harry could feel his cheeks grow hot. “I left it under my pillow, sir.”

“You accomplished all of that without your wand, Harry?” Dumbledore asked him quietly, a note of surprise in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Harry told him absently, watching the bandage around the Potions master’s arm rapidly turn red. “There wasn’t time to go back and get it.”

Madam Pomfrey bustled back into the room, wiping her hands on a towel. She checked the unconscious man before turning to the Headmaster, who still stood at Harry’s side.

“Healer Smethwyck is being summoned, Albus. In the meantime, the only option for Severus is a transfusion.”

“Surely the potion is sufficient.”

“He has lost a lot of blood, and the Blood Replenishing Potion is not working fast enough. The venom is interfering somehow.”

“You know we have never found a donor whose blood is a close enough match in the past, Poppy.” A worried frown creased the lined forehead of the powerful wizard.

Harry’s head swiveled between the two, listening intently to the conversation. “I will give him blood.”

“My dear,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was gentle. “You must be a physical as well as a magical match in order to give blood. Furthermore, you are an under-age wizard, Harry, and may not donate without consent of your guardian. There are dangers you aren’t aware of.”

“But if I am a match…”

“Test him, Poppy,” the Headmaster instructed her quietly.

“Hold out your hand,” the nurse ordered, her tone brusque. 

Harry did as directed, wincing as the mediwitch’s wand jabbed into the tip of his left forefinger. He watched in fascination as a drop of blood disappeared into the wand, then looked expectantly at the woman for her verdict. Her expression of concentration was replaced by one of guarded hope.

“There are a few subtle differences in the physical make up. Magically it is a perfect match, although Harry’s is a bit more concentrated. Severus should be able to tolerate the added magic with no difficulties, if we could use it.”

The two adults locked eyes in a silent battle, and Harry found himself getting irritated. He sighed.

“Madam Pomfrey, if my blood will help my father, then please use it, before I lose the very parent you want to get permission from!”

“Harry, I can’t do it without…”

The worry and anger flared in him, and Harry stood, his green eyes flaring.

“Do you think Voldemort stopped to ask permission before he took my blood in that graveyard a year ago?” he snapped, gesturing towards himself, his voice rising. “Whose permission did I have to endure the years of the Dursleys, or the repeated attempts on my life by that snake-faced bastard! I am not willing to sacrifice the life of the parent I just found to a technicality!” He met her eyes squarely. “It is bloody likely that I won’t live to graduate, how can you quibble about taking a little blood?” 

“I will back Harry’s decision, Poppy, should Severus have any objections,” Dumbledore told her.

After a long, assessing look at the young Gryffindor, Madam Pomfrey set to work. She levitated another bed over to the left of the Potions master’s bed. Ordering Harry to lie down there, she maneuvered his right arm under his father’s left forearm and bound them together tightly with magic. Waving her wand jerkily, she muttered an incantation, and Harry felt a sharp pain about midway down his arm, then a tug. As he lay there, he could feel his fingers growing cold, but knew that it meant blood was flowing into his papa. Harry knew he was going to be in trouble when the man awoke, both for the transfusion and the under-age magic, but it would be worth it. The use of magic had been necessary, maybe not doing it wandlessly, but the transfusion was something that he was pretty sure Severus would not have permitted. The grounding he was sure to get was worth having his parent around to administer it. 

An older man dressed in the lime-green robes of a St. Mungo’s healer walked around the curtains Madam Pomfrey had placed around the bed. Harry watched as sharp eyes took in the two beds and their occupants, flicking over the bound arms, before settling on Albus Dumbledore in the chair next to Harry’s bed. 

“Healer Smethwyck, thank you for coming so quickly,” the Headmaster greeted the healer as Madam Pomfrey stepped in behind him. “This is Professor Snape and his son, Harry.”

The Healer directed a piercing look at the raven-haired teenager. “The same boy named Harry who saved Arthur Weasley?”

Harry nodded stiffly. Surprisingly gentle fingers checked the two arms, feeling each of their fingers.

“And the same snake, I am told. Well, at least this time I have a point of reference to use. Next time…”

“There will be no next time, sir, I killed it,” Harry ground out between clenched teeth. A sharp sizzle of magic had just shot up his arm. Suddenly it was free, but he kept his grasp on his father’s hand.

“Indeed, Mister Potter, that is good news.”

“Snape, sir, my name is Potter-Snape.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the healer muttered, moving his wand over the Potions master under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey.

Handing a vial of pale yellow potion to the mediwitch, the healer began to unwind the bloody bandage. Banishing the soiled dressing, the man cleaned the bleeding wounds and carefully rewrapped them. Taking the vial back from the nurse, the healer held it to the pale lips, one hand moving to support the man’s neck. Severus stirred, turning his head away as his eyes fluttered open, a frantic look in them.

“Harry?” He managed to croak.

Squeezing the hand he held, Harry sat up and leaned over so that his father could see him. “I’m here, Papa.”

“Snake?”

“I incinerated it.”

“Good boy.”

“Professor, if you wish to recover, you must drink this potion. It is the antidote to the venom; you yourself developed it last year when Arthur Weasley was bitten,” Healer Smethwyck told him, pressing the vial to his lips again.

Obediently swallowing the viscous liquid, the Potions master lapsed back into unconsciousness. Lying back down, Harry let his head sink into the pillow, his hand still clasped around the older wizard’s. Turning on his side, Harry could see the thin gray light seeping over the horizon through the window at the end of the ward, and was amazed that the night was finally over. Turning his eyes back to the next bed, he watched the rise and fall of his father’s chest as the teenager drifted into a light doze.

* * *

Whispering voices brought Harry slowly to consciousness, making him an unwitting witness to an urgent conversation. 

“Let the boy sleep, Poppy, he can eat when he wakes.”

“He needs to build up his strength, Albus, after giving that blood. You are aware that Severus is going to be furious when he finds out, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I will deal with it when the time comes. How is he, really?”

“The blood and magic Harry gave him worked wonders, as did the antidote. The bleeding has finally stopped, and the venom is almost completely out of his system already. His arm is the worry now; it is still very swollen, and it is still touch and go as to whether he will lose it.”

Harry did not hear the Headmaster’s reply, as he and nurse had moved on down toward Madame Pomfrey’s office. Opening his eyes, he looked over at where his father lay, still unconscious, his pale face a sharp contrast to the long, raven hair that framed it. Slipping his hand from beneath the sheet that covered him, the teenager rested it on the Slytherin’s bare arm, lying as still as the rest of him. Madam Pomfrey’s words replayed in his head. His father might lose his arm. Could he still brew his beloved potions with one arm? Would he be able to teach?

Hot tears prickled the corners of his eyes, and Harry screwed them shut tightly. A sob welled up and caught painfully in his chest as he thought of everything that Voldemort and his followers has taken from him and those he loved. His magic swirled around inside him at his distress, and the feel of it soothed him as he wished with all the love he felt that there was some way he could make his papa better. His hand tingled where it lay on his father’s good arm. His eyes firmly closed as he slipped back into sleep, Harry didn’t see the white aura that spread from his palm to envelope Severus Snape’s body, before slowly dissipating.

* * *


	12. Healing Papa

* * *

Having gained his freedom from the hospital wing that morning, Severus Snape sat propped against pillows in his own bed. His son sat quietly reading a book in the chair next to the bed, jumping up every time the Potions master twitched, eager to take care of the injured man. With his right arm tightly bound by dressings and a sling, Severus was able to do little for himself. It was his wand hand, and he felt particularly vulnerable not being able to use it. Madam Pomfrey had told him late last night that there was still a possibility of losing the arm or not regaining full use of it. She had also asked him whether there was a history of empathic healing in his family, as it appeared that his arm had been partially healed while he was unconscious, and only Harry had been with him.

The Potions master frowned as the teenager fidgeted in his seat, having noted that he was the recipient of the older man’s dark gaze. His son refused to raise his eyes; the avoidance of his gaze made him think that Harry had something to hide, and Severus narrowed his at the boy. Gently, Harry closed his book and set it on the seat beside him, his face still downcast.

“Would you like some tea, Papa, or something to eat?” The boy stood up and moved to the side of the bed, his eyes focused on his father’s chest.

The behavior irritated the Slytherin, and he spoke without thinking. “No! I’d just like to rest without being bothered!” he spat out harshly. 

Harry’s head snapped back like he’d been struck, and the emerald eyes were shadowed as he turned, leaving the room with a mumbled apology. Dropping his head back against the pillow, Severus groaned, knowing he’d taken his bad humor out on his son. Again. Hurting Harry was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, it just reinforced the feeling that he was a terrible father. He still did not know what had happened two nights ago, remembering only that he’d awoken as Nagini sunk her fangs into his arm, and then promptly passed out. 

“Severus? May I come in?” Albus Dumbledore stood in the bedroom doorway, his face serious.

“Yes, please sit down,” he sighed. “I do not think I am very good company, however.”

“Harry thought you might be in pain or worried about your arm.”

“I could not stand to have him sitting there so quietly, acting as if he expected to be punished for something. I am afraid I snapped at him.”

The bright blue eyes met his, their gaze direct. “He is expecting to be punished, my boy, and I believe he is just waiting for you to ask him what happened.”

A surge of fear wrapped itself around Severus’ heart, and he allowed it to reach his eyes. “Where is he, Albus?

“I sent him to the kitchens for some sandwiches and chocolate cake.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners for a moment in a smile. “Harry has not left your side for an instant since this happened, you know, and I thought he could use a break.”

Severus nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he thought of the dark circles under the teenager’s eyes and the pinched look to his face. “What happened, Albus?”

“I can only tell you what your son told me, dear boy, as it was over by the time I was summoned,” the Headmaster began. He watched the Potions master face as he related the events of the previous night, how Harry had destroyed the serpent and survived being again possessed by Voldemort.

“I will leave him to tell you the finer details, Severus, but I am curious as to what your son did while you were unconscious. Somehow, the wounds that appeared to at least require the amputation of your right arm were miraculously healed in the space of twenty minutes, when only Harry was at your side.” 

A sound from the sitting room heralded the teenager’s return, a tray of sandwiches, soup, and chocolate cake in his hands. Harry hovered in the doorway for a moment, unsure of his welcome. The Headmaster stood, vacating the chair next to the bed, and conjured a lap tray for the invalid before waving Harry in. Exchanging glances with the Potions master, Dumbledore took his leave as soon as both were eating.

The silence stretched out, and Harry found the chicken sandwich he was eating difficult to swallow and tasteless as sawdust in his dry mouth, so he washed the bite in his mouth down with pumpkin juice. He put the half-eaten sandwich back on his plate and toyed with his goblet. Feeling the onyx eyes boring holes in the top of his head, he sighed. It wasn’t so much that he’d used magic again that bothered him, nor was it the fact that he had to tell his father that he’d blackmailed Madam Pomfrey into the blood transfusion, which he knew Snape would not like; no, he was nervous about telling the man about his latest abnormality, as Uncle Vernon would say. 

“You are not eating, Harry.” 

Harry lifted his head, and met the dark gaze. “I am not very hungry, sir.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what is bothering you, and be done with it,” his father asked in an even tone; Harry winced at the impatience he knew was there.

Setting his plate and tray on the nightstand, Harry sat back in the chair and focused on the older man’s chin. “A sound woke me up night before last, a slithering sound, and I couldn’t help but think about what had happened at the Ministry. I got up to see what it was, and as I came into your room, I heard the sound again. I made the lights come up just as the snake bit you. When she turned I saw that it was Nagini and her eyes were red, so I used the same spell you did on the snake that Malfoy set on me at the dueling club in my second year, only instead of banishing her, it burned her up. That was when Voldemort possessed me again, but I thought…” Harry trailed off, lifting his eyes to meet those of the man who had given him life. “I concentrated on how much I have come to love you, and was able to push him out. That’s when I realized that I did not have my wand and couldn’t get help for you, so I called for Dobby.”

An incredulous expression crossed the older wizard’s face. “You are telling me that you destroyed the Dark Lord’s familiar without benefit of your wand?”

Dropping his eyes, Harry nodded jerkily, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. He studied his fingers, noting absently that he’d managed to chew his nails ragged.

“Harry, come here.”

He looked up in time to see his father awkwardly pat the bed with his left hand. Taking the lap tray and the untouched bowl of soup from his father, the teen set it beside his plate. Walking around to the far side of the four-poster, Harry carefully slid up and sat beside his papa. The older wizard wrapped his left arm around the teenager and tugged him close. Afraid of hurting the Potions Master, and dreading the reprimand that he was sure was coming, Harry sat stiffly.

“Are you under the impression that wandless magic is something you should not be doing?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen much of it, and no one talks about it, so I was afraid it was,” he swallowed, “Dark magic or something.”

Severus looked down at the bent head; the implications of his son’s confession stunned him. He could not fathom the amount of power needed to do what the teenager had accomplished without even thinking about it.

“Harry, only an extremely powerful witch or wizard is able to do wandless magic. I am able to perform some small spells without my wand, but I am not sure even Albus is powerful enough to do what you did.”

The teen looked up at him in amazement. “Does that mean that I’m not in trouble for doing it, then?”

The Slytherin blinked. His son could very well be the most powerful wizard in a millennium, and the boy was afraid he was in trouble for having used that power to save his father’s life. 

“Wandless magic is an ability that requires special training to control accurately, and is not one that is often discussed, as it is so rare that many people do believe it is a Dark Art. You are not ‘in trouble’ at all, Harry. Indeed, you saved my life by using it.”

Harry looked up at him, his face brightened by a smile for the first time all day, his emerald eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Does that mean it was okay for the blood transfusion too, then? Madam Pomfrey seemed to think you would be angry, but she said you would die without it.”

For the second time in their conversation, the Potions master found himself at a loss for words. It surprised him, given the circumstances of his son’s conception, that Harry was a sufficient match in both blood and magic type to give him a transfusion; furthermore, he was initially quite surprised that Harry had been willing to go to such extremes to save the man who up until few weeks ago the boy had hated. After Severus considered what he had learned about his son’s character this summer, he realized that Harry would have insisted on giving him blood. 

“A blood transfusion has the potential to be a dangerous thing, Harry, especially for the person giving it.”

At the boy’s blank look, Severus sighed. “You give your magic as well as your blood, as the two are intertwined, son. Some types of magic might be given in excess, and cannot be replaced, therefore it can be dangerous for some people to give blood. You do not appear to be having any difficulties.”

“No, I feel fine, I think.”

His father seemed to pause for a moment, and Harry held his breath.

“You do realize if I had been conscious, I most probably would not havegiven you permission to give the transfusion.”

Harry felt emboldened by the look of pride he thought he’d seen in the older man’s eyes. “Then I guess it is a good thing you weren’t, Papa, as you were bleeding terribly and the blood replenishers could not keep up.”

Severus studied the teenager’s face, as he felt his son relax against his side for the first time since being released from the Infirmary. Something else the Headmaster had mentioned came back to him, and the Slytherin took a breath before asking his question, hoping he remembered the correct muggle terminology.

“When you lived at the Dursleys, Harry, were you ever taken to the doctor?” 

“No, sir, not that I remember,” Harry answered with a frown. ”I don’t ever remember really being sick, though.”

“How about when you were hurt, did they ever take you to a hospital?”

Harry shook his head, meeting his eyes curiously. “No, they never took me anywhere, just threw me…” His voice hitched. “Aunt Petunia just made me go into my cupboard so that I would not bleed on the floor.” 

Gritting his teeth, vowing once again to pay Lily’s muggle relatives a visit very soon, he prompted his son. “How were your injuries healed, then?”

The teenager blinked up at him, his forehead creased in thought. “I don’t remember, sir, it just seemed that after a few days all but the bruises and scrapes were gone. Why do you ask?” 

“The night I was attacked, Madam Pomfrey was sure that she would have to amputate my arm in order to save my life. She and the Headmaster went to her office to talk about it, do you remember that?”

Harry nodded. “I remember thinking that you couldn’t lose your arm, because then you would not be able to brew your potions.”

“Somehow while you were sitting with me, my arm was healed enough that I am no longer in danger of losing it. Poppy thinks you had something to do with it.”

“I couldn’t have, I fell asleep right after that,” Harry mumbled, feeling ashamed. 

Shifting slightly on the pillows, the Potions master leaned his head back. “Do you remember what you were thinking?”

“I put my hand on your arm when I laid my head down, and just wanted you to get better, Papa, that’s all.”

“Harry,” Severus said. “I believe that you have many talents and magical abilities, one of which maybe some type of empathic healing ability. We won’t know the extent of this healing power or your wandless abilities until we test you.”

Harry met his papa’s eyes, his own emerald eyes twinkling. “As long as I am not in trouble for doing any of it, as I don’t want to find out about this ‘being grounded’ thing.”

“Quite the contrary, son, I believe that without your unique abilities, I would have died,” the older wizard told him. “It will be interesting to find your limits.”

A sudden thought occurred to Harry, and he frowned. “Papa, the Prophecy says something about a ‘power that the Dark Lord knows not’; do you think this wandless magic might be that power?”

“Perhaps, Harry, perhaps.”

* * *

The following night, after spending the afternoon showing Harry how to focus his wandless magic, Harry’s screams pulled his father from a restless sleep. Fighting his way free of the bed covers, cursing his useless right arm and lingering general weakness, the Head of Slytherin stumbled across the hall into the boy’s bedroom. Awkwardly waving his left hand, he managed to light the torch near the head of the bed. 

Harry lay stiffly, his back bowed, mouth open in a silent scream, his hands clutching at his forehead. The lightning bolt scar appeared red and inflamed, marked by scratches where the teenager’s nails had gouged at it in an attempt to relieve his pain. With a gasp, Harry relaxed, and he curled into a ball, a low guttural groan torn from his throat. Severus was at a loss; he was unable to physically restrain his son to keep him from hurting himself, and he was certain that Harry was suffering a vision courtesy of his connection to the Dark Lord. Sliding onto the bed, the Potions Master positioned himself so that he was facing the head of the bed, his hip nudging the teen’s legs away from his chest. He patted the boy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. Harry stiffened again, his teeth clenching.

Grasping the shoulder, Severus shook it firmly. “Harry! Wake up, son! Harry!”

Tears seeped out of the corners of the teen’s eyes, and his father could hear his teeth grinding.

“Harry!” The older wizard shook him harder.

The green eyes popped open, wild and unseeing, still trapped in the nightmare. In the low soothing voice he hadn’t used since the boy had been an infant suffering from infrequent bouts of colic, Severus encouraged Harry to focus on him. Rubbing circles on his back, he kept talking until Harry came back to awareness. The boy took a deep, shuddering breath.

“He’s really angry, Papa.”

Harry had ended up curled around his father, his face buried in the side of the older man’s knee. Harry rolled over on his back, shifting his father’s hand onto his chest, and captured it with one of his own. Emerald eyes regarded Severus blurrily. 

“I did something to him that hurt him, I think, and it made him really angry. Angrier than when I killed Nagini,” Harry told his father urgently. “I just don’t know what it was! Oh, and he thinks you are dead.”

“Indeed,” Severus told him, concerned the teen’s pallor. “We can be sure that won’t last for long, but it might help us identify any other spies in the Order.” 

Harry nodded and closed his eyes again, allowing his exhaustion to close in. Clutching his father’s hand anxiously, he wished with all his might that the older man’s arm would heal quickly, and they would stay safe. He did not see the bright white light erupt from their joined hands, nor the astonishment on his papa’s face as the light enveloped his right arm. As Harry slid back into sleep, comforted by Severus’ presence, the older wizard watched his right arm heal.

* * *


	13. A New Danger

* * *

Madam Pomfrey scowled when the Potions master appeared in the doorway of the hospital wing early the next morning, his son at his side and his arm out of the sling.

“Severus! I told you that arm…”

“My arm was healed last night, Poppy, and I was even able to use it at breakfast this morning. I believe it needs to be checked, and then Harry can possibly explain to you exactly what he keeps doing that was instrumental in healing it,” Severus could not control the look of pride that crossed his features as he looked down at Harry. 

Harry looked up uncertainly, not really sure what it was, exactly, that he had done to heal the wounds on his father’s arm. Really, he had just wished it better, and how did he explain that? Having tried to explain that already to the older wizard, Harry sighed and sat on a chair just inside the door to the hospital wing, staring out the far window, clearly thinking that it would be a wonderful day to fly. Idly, he wondered what Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were doing that morning.

Professor Dumbledore coming through the doors at the end of the ward startled him, and Harry sat up straighter. Rather than head to the nurse’s office where his father was, the powerful wizard sat down beside him, and took a Chocolate Frog from his pocket. 

“Do you remember, Harry, when I told you why Voldemort was unable to possess you both times he has tried?” 

Harry accepted the candy box as he nodded. “Yes, sir, you told me it was because my heart is too full of love.”

“Indeed, Harry, and your ability to help your father’s wounds heal is based on that same immense power you have in such abundance, love.” 

Harry looked up into the twinkling blue eyes and smiled. As stupid as it sounded even to himself, he knew that he had loved his father since the Pensieve from his mother had arrived; a deep, abiding love of a child for a parent. Although, he had to admit being less enamoured of Professor Snape the Potions master, somehow he thought he could keep the two separate in his mind. Especially given the older wizard’s snarky, biting teaching style, Harry wasn’t looking forward to taking NEWTs level classes, if he’d gotten the OWL score he needed.

“Professor, when will we get our OWL test results?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Well, Harry, with the turmoil that the Ministry of Magic has been in the past month, it may take them a bit longer than usual to get them to us, although I do expect them any day now. I have been holding off sending the school lists out until I have the O.W.L. and NEWT results.”

Nodding, Harry started to reply, when they heard Madam Pomfrey’s voice.

“You will listen to me, Severus Snape, and you will take it easy for the next two days or I will bind you to a bed here in the hospital wing! The venom of that snake did a lot of damage, and you need to give your body time to heal!”

Looking up at his father as he came storming out of the curtained area, Harry was very glad that the look of towering rage wasn’t directed at him. As the Potions master swept by in a swirl of robes, Harry tried not to cower. Flashing back to what happened when Uncle Vernon was in a temper; he couldn’t help but flatten himself against his chair. The sharp blue eyes caught the movement, and laid a reassuring hand on the teenager’s sleeve.

“Headmaster,” Severus bit out between clenched teeth. “Come along, Harry.”

“Severus,” Albus Dumbledore said mildly. “I thought Harry might be able to assist Hagrid this afternoon for awhile, if it is all right with you. I have something I would like to discuss with you, dear boy.”

Severus halted his retreat and took a deep breath, taking a look at his son. Harry’s face was pinched and pale, the way it looked whenever the boy thought he was in trouble. Severus blinked, a flash of a set-jawed, defiant Harry Potter standing in his office during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons the past spring. Stripped of his Boy Who Lived façade and the righteous anger he had, the quiet, almost desperate to be loved teenager still equated his father’s bad temper with pain and rejection. He closed his eyes tightly; these were the times when Harry’s lack of emotional development and insecurity flared, no doubt a direct result of the treatment and verbal abuse he was subjected to by the Dursleys. Opening his eyes, Severus growled, and Harry jumped.

With an outstretched hand, Severus pulled Harry to his feet, and put a hand on each of the thin shoulders, onyx meeting emerald.

“I am not angry at you, Harry, but rather at Poppy’s high-handed bedside manner.”

“I heard that, Severus,” a female voice drifted out of the office.

“I will do my best not to take my ill-humor out on you. You need to be able to recognize when I am being a git and tell me so.”

Harry, who had been studying a button on his father’s robes, snapped his head up. 

“Oh, right, that would go over well, don’t you think,” he retorted before he could think about it.

The Headmaster was unable to cover the snort of laughter, and even Severus felt his mouth twitch. He tilted his head and arched an eyebrow at his son. Madame Pomfrey stepped out of her office just in time to see Harry tilt his hard and arch an eyebrow right back at his father.

“You have a valid point, Harry,” Severus conceded, snorting in amusement at the boy’s imitation. “What would you suggest?”

Harry went through a brief internal struggle before grasping his Gryffindor courage with both hands. “How about I call you ‘father’ when you slip into ‘Professor Snape’?”

“When what?” Severus frowned.

“When you get snarky and snarly like you do in class, then I will call you ‘father’,” Harry explained in a rush of speech.

“Alright,” patting his shoulder, the Potions master’s eyes pinned a still chuckling Dumbledore and Pomfrey, who had come out to observe the confrontation. “Come, son, you can brew for me while I rest near the workstation and supervise.”

After reaching the dungeons, the pair changed into comfortable clothing, then the older man stretched out grudgingly on the couch. Harry joined him, watching as his father relaxed against a pillow. Harry thought he still seemed a bit disgruntled. It helped to know the man was not angry at him, and Harry supposed it would become a routine to let that kind of thing roll off him, but at the moment, he didn’t feel like bothering him. Sitting on the floor with his back propped against the foot of the couch, he laid his wand on the table, and closed his eyes.

“ _Accio_ wand!”

His wand jumped immediately into his hand, and Harry grinned. Behind him, he heard his father snort.

“You incinerated a huge serpent the other night with a wave of your hand, Harry, summoning your wand seems a bit simple after that.”

Harry looked over at him. “I haven’t figured out how I did that yet, so how am I going to do anything else?”

Severus met his eyes. “I am not sure, truthfully, as I have never tried wandless magic to that extent, but I would imagine that it starts with visualizing your magic and what you want it to do.”

Harry looked at him skeptically.

“Conjure something for me,” his father suggested simply.

Harry glared at him for a moment, willing the older wizard to think back to when he was in Hogwarts. Fifth year students had not been taught to conjure anything; in fact, Harry was pretty sure he failed banishing and vanishing charms. As far as he knew, one conjured things out of thin air, Harry thought, screwing up his face in concentration. Or maybe, he reasoned suddenly, it was actually the air he was transfiguring into something else! With absolute concentration, Harry visualized a block of air molecules and waved his hand at it.

A tea tray appeared on the table, complete with the chocolate biscuits his father seemed to like so much. A gasp from his father told him he’d surprised the older man. With a grin, the teenager scooted over, poured a cup of tea, and added a biscuit to the plate as he handed it to Severus. The approving smile on the older man’s face as he handed him the cup made Harry feel warm inside. 

“I trust you started with the most basic…” Severus peered at his son. “Those people did allow you to go to primary school, didn’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered, feeling puzzled and remembering the hell Dudley made those years.

“Then you have a basic understanding of the principals of atoms and molecules, and how matter is made up. A wizard does not conjure something out of ‘thin air’, but rather transfigures the matter that makes up air itself.”

Looking over the rim of his cup, Severus took a sip of his tea, and made a face. “This is definitely your handy work, my son, the tea is sweetened just the way you like it.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, but relaxed when he saw his father’s lips twitch. Helping himself to a cup of tea and a biscuit, he settled into the chair normally occupied by his father. Taking a sip, he found it was indeed just the way he took his tea. He thought over what the older wizard had said, wonder how in the world he would know how much air to transfigure, and how it worked without an incantation. As he began to ask, there was a knock on the door.

Severus waved a hand at the door, knowing it was the Headmaster.

“Come in, Albus.”

Harry looked up and met the twinkling blue eyes, and smiled. Moving out of the leather armchair, he sat down at the end of the couch beside the slender bare feet of Severus Snape. The powerful wizard leaned forward and helped himself to tea and a biscuit.

“Ah, already sweetened just the way I like it!”

Harry choked on a bite of biscuit as he watched his snarky Potions master roll his eyes at his superior. A hand smacked him on the back several times in a lazy fashion, until he managed to take a sip of his tea. Those blue eyes surveyed him over the top of the half-moon spectacles, a smile creasing the corners of his mouth.

“I thought perhaps Harry would like to go see Hagrid for a little while, Severus, so that we might talk,” the Headmaster said quietly.

“Before he goes, how is your tea, Albus?” The Head of Slytherin asked, his dark eyes glittering.

Dumbledore cocked his head, looking back and forth between father and son. “It is excellent, Severus, why?”

“Harry just conjured it wandlessly for me, without a single instruction.”

The Headmaster shot Harry an appraising look, but he had his head down, a surge of anger hitting him as he felt like he had last summer, being patted on the head and told to run along like a good boy. It was going over as well as it had a year ago.

“You are going to be taking about me, Professor Dumbledore,” he stated, and he was on his feet.

The blue eyes held his calmly. “Yes, Harry, among other things.”

A flash of pure rage swept through him, and suddenly, he was back in Dumbledore’s office fresh from the battle in the Department of Mysteries, just after watching his godfather died. The revelations and confessions, as well as the Prophesy, replayed in his mind in that instant.

The emerald eyes glowed with the emotion swirling inside him. “You promised, Professor! In June, you promised me there would be no more secrets!” Harry grounded out through clenched teeth. 

“Watch your tone, Mister Potter!” The Potions master snapped.

“Certainly, Father!” He spat back, his chest burning, his eyes never leaving Dumbledore’s. “Does he even know, Headmaster? Does he realize what I am condemned to? Has he even heard the entire Prophesy?”

Severus sat up, clearly appalled at his son’s manner, his face thunderous. “You will not…”

“Severus,” the Headmaster interjected quietly, cutting across the Slytherin’s tirade, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “Harry is correct, I did promise him I would not keep things from him again. It was, of course, before we realized you have a living father, one who might have a different point of view.”

The Potions master subsided, a carefully neutral mask sliding over his features as he watched his son. That face as almost as scary as the angry one he’d seen a moment ago, Harry reflected, as he struggled to calm himself. For a moment, he contemplated just walking out the door, and letting the adults have their bloody discussion, but he was tired of being left in the dark.

“Please sit down, Harry,” the Headmaster asked him quietly.

After a brief internal debate, Harry sank back down on the edge of the couch, being careful not to touch his father, and not caring if it was childish. The chasm inside him had lessened in the weeks since Sirius’ death, and his new relationship with the Snape had gone a long way in helping him heal, but the wound he carried inside was still raw. Now, it felt like it had burst open again, and he was bleeding inside. Yet, if there was anyone who might be able to help him, it was his father.

The anger inside him subsided as the young Gryffindor realized that the man next to him, who had just regained a son after almost fifteen years, would now learn his destiny. His eyes prickled and he stared at his hands, not knowing if he felt sorry for Snape or himself.

“Harry is also correct when he says you are unaware of the entire prophecy, Severus. The Order was only given the general meaning, for security reasons. Actually, you will be the fourth person to hear it in its entirety.” The powerful wizard waved his hand and Harry could feel the pressure of the silencing spell and imperturbable charm that went up.

“The prophecy says… _'the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.…'_ "

As the Headmaster methodically repeated each line of the statement he knew by heart, Severus sat up slowly, ending up in the middle of the couch next to his son. He knew the first half, as indeed, the Dark Lord himself knew, but was shocked by the fact that Voldemort had set the Prophecy into stone by leaving the scar on baby Harry’s forehead. An unknown power, and then…

Comprehension of Harry’s sudden mood change dawned as he listened to the words that condemned his son to kill or be killed, and more likely, die in the effort. When Dumbledore’s voice trailed off, Severus became aware that Harry was leaning against his side, resignation and sadness clearly evident in the teenager’s silent face. Another truth registered in his mind, had Harry known about the Prophecy before June, Voldemort would not have been able to lure him to the Department of Mysteries. 

Looking down, Severus hesitantly slipped an arm around the teenager. “I understand now why you were so angry, Harry, and I agree that there can be no secrets between us.”

Relaxing fractionally, his son nodded, before turning to look expectantly at the Headmaster. The blue eyes were intent as they looked from one to the other. 

“I had originally come down to speak with you, Severus, as several things have happened in the past twenty-four hours that demand a decision from us,” Dumbledore began, the lines in his face becoming more evident. “Someone paid a great deal of money to entice a low-level clerk in the Ministry to dig up and copy Harry’s birth certificate, and then provided it to the _Daily Prophet_. I believe the article will call for some type of fitness hearing for you to retain custody.”

Harry hissed in what Severus knew to be Parseltongue, and knew it was not something he thought the boy should repeat in English. Severus smirked, although his insides twisted at the thought of going through a Wizengamot hearing. The Headmaster calmly took another sip of his tea. 

“I had planned to relay to you, also, the Prophecy in its entirety, so that you might better assess the decisions we are must make,” he continued, his blue eyes grave. “With the knowledge that someone in the select group, who was privileged to share your news, has betrayed you and Harry, we have the hard reality of needing the two of you to disappear. Add to that the impression Harry feels Voldemort has, that he believes you are dead, and it gives us the next four weeks to prepare both of you for the start of term and this new danger.”

“Prepare us, Professor?” Harry asked with a perplexed look on his face.

“You must be able to close your mind to Voldemort, Harry, as well as try to gain control over the power you are starting to develop.”

Severus nodded. “The power the Dark Lord knows not…’” he muttered thoughtfully.

Dumbledore nodded, munching on a biscuit as he watched their faces. “I believe Harry has just begun to tap into the well of power within him, and the attack on you unfortunately, allowed Voldemort to get a glimpse of it. So, we will need a safe place for you to train Harry, lay low, and be unavailable for any Ministry hearing until such time as it is advantageous for us. The first place that will be approached is Hogwarts, so you may not be safe here.”

Severus looked down in to his son’s anxious eyes. “We can be ready in half an hour, Albus, should we pack for warm or cool temperature.”

“Definitely warm, Severus.”

* * *


	14. Redwoods

* * *

Within the hour, Harry sat in the Headmaster’s office with his father and Madam Pomfrey, a black bag at his feet. Professor Dumbledore sat at his desk, reading a piece of parchment Fawkes had just delivered. The phoenix had appeared in a flash of flame as Harry and his father entered the office, and the Headmaster had waved them into chairs while he read the missive. Shifting in his seat, the teenager reflected on the interesting picture the enraged Madam Pomfrey had made when she caught them packing for their trip. It had taken the considerable persuasive powers of the Headmaster and the threat of a calming potion to make her receptive to an explanation. 

“Marvelous, marvelous, everything is set, my boys!” Albus Dumbledore looked at them over the top of his half-moon spectacles, smiling. “I am sending you to the home of a very powerful American wizard, a rather well-known figure in the cinema community. He has a large parcel of property just north of San Francisco, near the Pacific Ocean in California. The wards and protections he has in place will not only mask your magical signatures, they will inter-weave them in whatever new project he is working on, thus completely protecting you both. This wizard is also a member of the Order of the Phoenix; he serves as my commander in the States, and has his own personal Auror force to protect himself and his family. Fawkes has brought a portkey that will take you directly to the cottage on his property where you will spend the next several weeks. George has had everything prepared, and I have sent Dobby ahead with the rest of your things.”

An uneasy feeling skittered down Severus’ spine as he stood and walked over to the window. There was nothing he hated more than to portkey blindly. He watched his son slip the straps of both their bags over his shoulder and move over toward the window. Settling a hand on Harry’s shoulder, he was surprised to find it as tense as his own. With murmured goodbyes, the pair took the roll of parchment from the Headmaster. The familiar tug behind his navel affirmed the portkey’s activation; in that instant, the older wizard caught sight of his son’s face, and grimaced at the horrified, sick expression on it. 

The turbulent spinning seemed to take an inordinately long time. Eventually, Severus was deposited on a gleaming hardwood floor. Just managing to stay on his feet, he stepped aside as Harry landed in a graceless sprawl beside him, his eyes closed and his chest heaving. Surprised by the boy’s reaction to the journey, the Potions master moved to stand beside him, gently resting his hand on Harry’s head.

“Are you alright?”

The emerald green eyes that looked up at him were filled with sadness. “Yeah, I just always flash back to that night in the maze whenever I use a portkey.”

Nodding his understanding, Severus extended his hand and helped Harry to his feet, then wrapped an arm around him. Hugging his son to his side for a moment, the older wizard shut his eyes briefly, reflecting on all the teenager had been through in his short life. They stood that way for several minutes, and Severus felt the boy slowly relax. With a small smile, he looked down.

“Shall we take a look around?”

Pulling away from his father’s side, Harry took a curious look at his surroundings. He had been feeling too sick to take in much when he first arrived, and now he felt his jaw drop. The ‘cottage’ was huge. An open area large enough to fit his father’s entire suite of rooms into made up the much of the first floor. This great room encompassed a sitting room, dining room, office area, and large kitchen. Rough-hewn pine logs formed the walls and roof of the house, leaving the front half of the room open to the roof. A stairway on the right side led up to what Harry assumed were bedrooms. The ceiling had large skylights, and each of the walls had large windows. He frowned when he looked out one to see the steely grey of approaching dawn.

“If I have calculated correctly, there is eight hours time difference between Hogwarts and California, so it must be almost five in the morning here,” his father murmured, apparently reading his thoughts. “It would appear we will have the chance to eat breakfast yet this morning, son.”

Harry laughed as he moved from what appeared to be an entry area towards the sitting area, which was dominated by a huge fireplace with a small fire crackling away. Dropping their bags at the foot of the stairs, Harry moved around the room, exploring more of its details. The wall adjacent to the fireplace held many shelves of neatly stacked books. The kitchen was open and inviting, furnished with a combination of Muggle and wizarding items, including both a gas stove and refrigerator and the standard cauldron hanging over an unlit fire. The large window over the sink looked out onto a large wooden deck, complete with swimming pool, and the expanse of huge trees that lined the edge.

“Papa, come look!”

Harry moved toward a set of glass doors that led off the dining area out on to the massive deck, hesitating only for a moment before pushing them open. His father joined him as he stepped out onto the rock and wood construction, and both of them stared up at the incredible trees that lined the edge of the deck, stretching back as far as they could see into a forested area. Straight, sturdy trunks of a deep reddish-brown shot up far into the sky, their limbs gathered around the top like a parasol. Tall and majestic, they stood like sentinels against the awakening sky, Harry thought, tilting his head back as far as it could go to see the canopy. The log house was protected on three sides by the forest, and judging by the sunrise, the house faced south overlooking gently rolling hills.

“ _Sequoia sempervirens_ ,” Severus said quietly, his dark eyes sweeping up to the crown of the nearest tree, whose trunk had to be a meter in diameter. “They are coastal redwoods, I believe, and they can grow to amazing size.” 

It was quiet and peaceful, Harry mused, a warm breeze ruffling his unruly hair. He inhaled the scent, a pleasant fragrance of earth, pine, and something tangy that he could not identify. Looking up to meet his father’s dark gaze, he watched as the older man filled his lungs with the sweet air.

“We must be rather close to the water here, Harry, I can smell the ocean.”

Delight lit his face as he took in another deep breath, savoring the unfamiliar scent. “Do you think we could go see it while we are here, Papa? I’ve never been to the sea before.”

Severus frowned as he looked at the teenager. “You grew up in Surrey, almost as close to the ocean as you can be, and you have never seen it? Did those people never go on holiday?”

Sadness flitted over the expressive features, and Severus could feel anger blossoming in his chest.

“Oh, they went on holiday all the time, I just wasn’t invited. They usually left me with Missus Figg.”

The curiously flat expression that he wore whenever the Dursleys were discussed came over Harry’s face, and the anger in his father’s chest burned hotter. Carefully, he moved to the porch railing to stand next to his son, putting his hands on the thin, tense shoulders. A part of him was thrilled to see that the top of that messy head now came up to his chin, knowing how pleased the boy was to be growing taller. 

“We will make it a priority to go to the ocean, Harry.”

The glowing smile that lit his son’s face as he turned to look at the Slytherin would melt the most hardened heart, Severus knew from personal experience. Lifting a hand to gently brush the fringe from Harry’s forehead, Severus traced the lightning bolt scar with his thumb. He could feel the faint pulse of dark magic in it, and looked down into Lily’s brilliant green eyes.

“Somehow, I will make up for what you suffered at the hands of those animals, my son. I promise.”

Looking up at the tall, dark man who had become so important to him in such a phenomenally short span of time, Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

The first golden rays of morning light began to illuminate the house, bringing out the vivid browns and greens of the forest. Making their way back inside, Severus moved to prowl around the great room as Harry moved to peer into the Muggle-style refrigerator. Seeing the teen’s head disappearing into the thing drew a snort from Severus as he looked back from the entry area. On a small table near an elaborate wood and etched glass door, there sat an envelope addressed to ‘Severus Snape’ in black ink. Listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen, the Potions master slid a thumb under the seal.

> _Severus and Harry,_
> 
> _I am pleased to welcome you to my home, and hope that you find everything you need to be comfortable. The kitchen has been stocked with foods, albeit American I am afraid, and the bedrooms have been prepared._
> 
> _My understanding from Albus is that you will be spending a great deal of time training. There is a basement room set up for that purpose. I hope you can be persuaded to enjoy some leisure time outside as well, where the grounds are heavily warded and very safe._
> 
> _I will stop by later this morning to see how you have settled in. Please let me know by floo if there is anything you need._
> 
> _Sincerely, George_

Running his fingers over the fine parchment, Severus could feel the magical signature of the powerful American wizard. Not particularly a social being, and with few close relationships outside his professional ones, the Slytherin was grateful that Albus’ friend had allowed him and his son a safe refuge for the next few weeks, and actually looked forward to meeting him. The smell of bacon brought him out of his thoughts and back to the present. He headed towards the kitchen, where he could see Harry cooking in a pan over the gas flame, looking quite natural. Leaning against the countertop, he watched as the teenager deftly prepared breakfast. 

“How did you learn how to cook like that?”

Harry didn’t look up from the biscuits he was throwing together. “I did most of the cooking once I was able to reach the top of the stove.” 

Placing the baking pan into the warm oven, he took two plates and carried them to the table, where he had places set. Waving a hand toward the far chair, Harry returned to the kitchen to get the teacups. They ate in silence, as both men realized they were actually quite hungry. Harry made several trips back and forth from the kitchen, checking the biscuits and refilling cups.

“Excellent breakfast, Harry. Now if only I could get you to ‘cook’ like that in potions,” Severus told him with a straight face.

Surprisingly, the older wizard helped him clean up, and the kitchen was soon put back in order. Wandering upstairs, they found two large rooms, each with their own bathrooms, waiting for them. The windows looking over the rear of the residence let in an abundance of light, and Harry was delighted to find an armchair as well as a desk and chair in one corner of his room. The bed was made with a light, golden wood, its cover and pillows a forest green that went well with the golden carpet and light walls. His father’s room was slightly larger and done in sapphire blue. Running his fingers over the logs that made up the walls of the bedroom, Harry felt relaxed for the first time in a long time.

A magically enhanced ping announced the arrival of their host, and Harry followed his father down the wide staircase to the entryway. The soft recessed lighting that had illuminated the rooms when they arrived had dimmed as the daylight began to filter in, and Harry wondered if it were magical or Muggle technology. It seemed to him that the wizard who owned the house was at the top of both his worlds. 

The Potions master opened the door cautiously, not sure if he should expect a traditional wizard or one integrated with Muggle culture. The black trousers he wore contained a special wand pocket down the right leg, and his long-sleeved pullover was also black. Harry wore Muggle jeans and a green t-shirt, and he quickly ran a smoothing hand over his hair. He stood back near the foot of the steps as the man stepped inside the house, shaking his father’s hand. He stood an inch or so shorter than Severus, had salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Harry thought that his eyes looked kind, and that he had a nice smile. He was glad to see the wizard dressed casually in blue jeans and a button-down shirt.

“And this is my son, Harry.” Severus closed the door behind the older man, and beckoned Harry forward. “Harry, this is our host, uh, George.” 

“A pleasure, sir,” he greeted the wizard, smiling. Harry decided he liked him already as he shook his hand.

“What stunning eyes you have, young man” The man retained his grip on Harry’s hand. “I have only seen one other person with eyes that particular color…”

Severus cleared his throat. “The Headmaster mentioned you had toured Hogwarts while I was a student; if that is the case, you may have met Harry’s mother. She was in same year as I was.”

“Yes, that was it,” George smiled, releasing Harry’s hand and smiling at him. “A flower name, Rose, Iris…”

“Lily,” the teenager said, a sad smile on his face.

“Yes, I am sorry, Harry, how could I have forgotten that you lost Lily and James as a baby? My apologies.” 

“It’s all right, sir, I was just startled that you remembered after all this time.” Harry looked up at Severus, who put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “Thank you for allowing us to stay with you.”

George waved off his thanks, and led the way towards the back terrace. Sliding open the glass door, he stepped onto the deck, where he summoned several folding chairs with a long, black wand. Setting the chairs in the shade of the redwood trees, he waved his guests into them. With another wave of his wand, George conjured a tea service and three tall glasses with what looked like tea and ice in them. It is warm already, Harry thought, reaching across to taste one of the iced glasses. He made a face when he tasted the weak, bland tea, prompting their host to laugh and pushed the sugar bowl toward him.

“You are protected here by Muggle security personnel, in addition to every wizarding protection available. The basement room under this house is lined with magic-absorbent rock; it is impenetrable, from both the inside and out. Dumbledore told me a bit of your personal history, and I just want to reassure you that both of you are safe here, especially from any Dark beings.” The American reassured them, meeting the Potions master’s piercing eyes.

Severus nodded his thanks and began to ask about the area, inquiring whether there was any native flora or fauna to be aware of. The American wizard pointed out some nearby plants that were commonly used in by the local magical community for various potions. They were soon deep in conversation about the differences between British and American potions, and Harry found himself squirming in his seat. 

“My children are about your age, Harry, and they would not want to sit here listening to this, either,” the man mentioned with a smile. “If it’s okay with your dad, there is a stream not far from the house with a little bridge over it that you might enjoy exploring. The only thing you need to watch out for is the occasional snake.”

Harry grinned at that and looked at Severus for approval. The Potions master nodded, telling him not to talk to any strange snakes before turning back to the confused American to explain. Not lingering to hear his father’s explanation, Harry moved to the set of stairs at the edge of the deck, which led down into the forest. 

Stepping down carefully, Harry patted his pocket to make sure he had his wand, and started down the path through the towering trees. It was cool on the forest floor, and large tree ferns of added splashes of lighter green to the space between dark tree trunks. He could see the tracks of several different animals; deer, he thought as he stopped to examine one, and maybe raccoon, if he remembered his primary school teacher right. Strolling down the path through the redwood grove, Harry felt a calmness that he had never felt in the Forbidden Forest, and he wondered if there were any magical creatures in this forest. Certainly no Grawp or centaurs, he wagered, or the American wizard would never have allowed him out on his own. 

The footbridge over the wide stream was built of sturdy hand-hewn timber. Harry sat on it for a long time, leaning over the side and watching the peaceful steam flow below it. Tadpoles and frogs swam in the shallows, as the dark shapes of fish lazily swam in the middle of the water. Here and there rays of sunlight dappled the clear waters, and birds chirped in the tops of the trees; Harry found it soothing to watch as nature interacted. 

Harry sat on the bridge for a long time, savoring the rare ability to sit in the quiet without worrying about being seen, or being in danger. His right leg fell asleep; standing, the teen flexed it with a groan, wincing as the sensation of prickling pins and needles migrated up from his foot. His stomach growled and he felt a sliver of anxiety about having been gone for so long, as he did not want his father angry. Hurriedly, he stepped down from the wooden bridge onto the edge of the dirt path, right into a hole. Falling forward, he heard and felt a snap in his ankle, and pain speared up his leg.

With a gasp, Harry broke his fall with his hands, fingers digging deeply into the soft dirt and duff on the forest floor. A wave of pain made him light-headed, and he gingerly maneuvered his weight off his hands. Breathing deeply through his nose, Harry managed to sit down on the dirt, and eased his foot out of the hole. His ankle was already swelling, his whole leg throbbing painfully with each beat of his heart. Just great, he thought, gritting his teeth. Our first day in America, and I have already gotten lost in the woods and managed to break my ankle.

Wrapping his hands around his ankle, Harry suddenly remembered what he used to do at the Dursleys’ when Dudley had hurt him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on fixing his ankle before his father could get mad or worried about his absence. A feeling like an electrical charge zapped through him, and the pain in his ankle faded. He stood up gingerly and was relieved to find that it bore his weight with just the slightest twinge. Carefully, he set off back toward the house.

* * *

“I am so sorry, Severus! I had no intention of tying up your whole morning.” Apologizing, the American wizard rose from his seat on the deck. 

Standing with him, Severus was mildly surprised to find that they had been speaking for almost two hours. Stretching his back from the long sit, he glanced out into the forest in the direction Harry had gone. The ring on his finger had pulsed once about half an hour before, but it had calmed at once, so he tried not to worry as he escorted the older man out. Their host was a fascinating man, and Severus had enjoyed the conversation, but he was now growing concerned over the continued absence of his son. 

Walking back onto the deck, he made his way down the steps just in time to see the young wizard limp out of the forest. The relief he felt at the sight of his son turned into anger when he saw the dirty, disheveled state the boy was in, and then came full circle to concern when he took in his pale, pinched face. The Potions master put a hand to his spinning head before moving forward to assist him up the steps.

“I’m not sure whether to hug you or scold you, Harry,” he muttered, as the teenager leaned against him, limping across the deck toward the house.

* * *


	15. California

* * *

Sitting on a chair in the kitchen, Harry quickly told his father where he had gone and what had happened, stripping off his jeans with the older wizard’s help as he spoke. Severus waved his wand over the slightly swollen and red right ankle, frowning when he saw the diagnostic glow around the recently healed bone.

“You are correct in assuming the bone was broken, Harry. What did you do to fix it?”

Embarrassed and somewhat ashamed, Harry dropped his head and spoke to his chest. “I did what I used to do when I was little and Dudley and his gang would beat me up. I just wrapped my hands around it and wished it was fixed.” 

With one finger, Severus lifted Harry’s chin up until their eyes met. “Rather like you wished my arm to be fixed, son? Can you show me other instances?”

Harry simply nodded. He was not sure whether to be happy that he seemed to have this strange ability, or whether it merely reaffirmed Vernon Dursley’s assertion that he was abnormal. His face must have given something of his thoughts away, as his father’s eyes narrowed, and seemed to bore into him. Instead of pulling away or attempting to shield his thoughts, Harry relaxed and nodded.

“ _Legilimens_!” Severus whispered.

Scene after scene played through his mind as Harry pulled forth memories of abuse at the hands of Dudley’s gang and other instances when he had healed himself as a child. Unlike the forced invasion of last term, this probing was uncomfortable but not painful, but for the emotional upheaval caused by the unpleasant memories. He felt the older man withdraw after a few minutes. Severus dropped heavily into the chair beside Harry, burying his face in his hands. While Harry knew that his father had come to realize that his upbringing had been far from that of a pampered and spoiled prince, the images he had just seen bordered on criminal neglect and abuse and were sure to upset him.

“How could I have been so wrong about your life? How could I have been so blinded by hatred that I did not recognize the signs?”

Severus was appalled by the images he had just witnessed, some of which he had seen before during their lessons last spring, but never in such depth or detail. Little Harry had been his obese cousin’s favorite punching bag, even as a very small boy, and the verbal abuse heaped on him by Lily’s sister and her husband, not to mention the complete lack of any kind of affection, was appalling. Once again, Severus vowed that he would pay a visit to Privet Drive in the near future and re-introduce himself to Petunia and Vernon Dursley.

“Are you all right, Papa?” Harry asked quietly, reaching out to put a hand on the older man’s arm.

Severus smiled as he looked up at his son, and patted his hand. “You have a rare gift, Harry. There are very few natural healers in our world, and you may even be a natural empath, which is exceedingly rare. We will have to see if we can determine which, as being empathetic can also put you at risk in certain situations.”

Harry frowned. He didn’t need anything else to put him at risk; Voldemort was quite enough for him, thanks. “What do you mean?”

“We must make sure that you are not what is known as a ‘touch empath’, which means you feel the pain or illness of another person by merely touching them. I do not believe this is the case, as it seems you must at least be thinking about what you want healed before it can happen.” Severus ran a hand through his hair. “I think we can leave this conversation for later, Harry. Let me get you a healing potion and then we will go down and explore the dungeon, er, basement.”

Harry nodded in agreement and relaxed. Severus disappeared upstairs, returning a few minutes later with a vial of potion in his hand. Drinking it obediently, Harry handed to vial back to his father before following him down a step of stairs set in an alcove near the front door. The dark, narrow staircase led down to a short corridor lit by torches on the wall, which flared to life as they drew near. Two doors stood open in the narrow hallway at the bottom of the landing. Looking into the first room, they saw a modern potions lab almost double the size of Severus’ personal lab at Hogwarts, complete with a fireplace. The second door led to a long room lined in dark stone, with a table and several chairs at one end next to a small bookcase. It was otherwise empty. 

As the Potions master stepped forward to exam the lab, Harry wandered over to the books that lined the shelves at the far end of the training room. Most of them seemed to deal with physical and magical training, but there was a small section on how to protect one’s mind. One book in particular seemed to jump out at him, and Harry sat down on the floor to look through it. The simple guide to meditation and ways to effectively clear the mind grabbed his attention, so paged idly through the book. He had learned to shield his mind from the images that Voldemort had attempted to force through the link they shared, but the visions continued. Harry had never truly been able to find an easy way to clear his mind, especially if he was upset or angry. It was with some interest that he began to read about the benefits of meditation.

After eating lunch at about the time they would have been eating dinner at Hogwarts, Severus took his son out to the pool and taught him the proper way to swim. The pair spent an hour in the end of the pool shaded by the tall redwoods that lined the edge of the deck, and Severus made a mental note to brew some sun protection lotion so they could enjoy the warmer, sunnier side of the deck. It was much warmer here than in the highlands of Scotland where Hogwarts stood, much more like a Mediterranean climate, Severus thought, not quite what he had imagined America to be like. 

In an attempt to acclimate to the change in time and climate, they took it easy for the rest of the afternoon and the next day. Taking advantage of the unexpected free time, Harry dragged his father out to the forest, where together they explored the unfamiliar terrain. Taking a picnic lunch their second afternoon in the house, Severus collected several potion ingredients he had only heard of before, and Harry found a Western Diamondback rattlesnake that was more than happy to show the young Gryffindor his rattle. 

When both men had adjusted to their new locale, they resumed Harry’s training. Severus took the time to explain what he hoped to achieve before they started, letting Harry know what he expected, and things went smoothly. With the new meditation techniques Harry had read about, he found he was able to better clear his mind of the strong negative emotions that had caused him so much trouble in the past. Although he still had not mastered the ability to place surface emotions and thoughts on top of his shield to misdirect anyone trying to get into his mind, Harry had at least learned to shield his thoughts and successfully keep his father from breaking through his defenses. It was still painful and exhausting for both Harry and Severus; they found if they did Occlumency in the mornings, and took a break for lunch and to relax before coming back in the afternoon for their Defense lessons, they had more patience and greater success.

Harry continued to excel at wandless magic, his magical levels astonishing his father. The older wizard continued to instruct the teenager in increasingly more difficult defensive spells, progressing to wordless spells and shields, which Harry found difficult to grasp, with or without his wand. Starting with the most rudimentary summoning spells, the teen spent hours practicing. Finally, his mind seemed to figure out what it needed to do to accomplish the task. After that breakthrough, Harry was pleased to find he was able to master simple wordless magic, and beamed when his father praised his efforts.

Their host visited several times over the course of the next ten days, bringing them the owl post he’d received in their stead, including editions of the _Daily Prophet_. George provided them with a map that would lead them to the stretch of beach his property contained, and delivered two American broomsticks for them to ride. Harry settled down to read letters from Ron and Hermione when his father and the American disappeared down into the potions lab to experiment with a potion. Severus had offered to customize a potion that eased breathing for a child with asthma; the standard potion worked, but had side effects that made the child uncomfortable. The filmmaker was thrilled, and insisted on helping. Smirking, Harry settled into a deck chair, knowing his papa was in his element and would not surface for hours.

After almost two weeks of hard work, Severus decided they had earned an afternoon off. Packing two bags with towels, snacks, and vials to gather potion ingredients, he helped Harry slather sun protection potion on his exposed skin. They took the brooms their host had provided, and flew low along the edge of the redwoods, following the trail indicated on the map to the ocean. The weather had fascinated both wizards since their arrival, especially the movement of the fogbank as it drifted on and off the shore in the morning and evenings. Harry had learned that it could be cool and misty in the morning, only to have the fog burn away in heat of the afternoon, which then gave way at night for more chilly temperatures. Severus had insisted Harry learn to swim proficiently before they go to the ocean, and they had quickly learned to swim late in the afternoon, instead of the mornings.

They landed in an isolated cove, and Harry was immediately delighted by the sight of dark foam-capped waves rushing toward the golden sand of the beach, crashing into the blue-green shallows. Black rock lined the beach, and the grassy headlands overlooked a wild stretch of coastline. Further south, Harry could make out large expanses of beach areas with many people lying on bright beach towels, while others swam in the waves. In the water directly out from the beach, he could see a number of bobbing spots of color that had to be the surfers George had told them about. At the edge of the horizon, he could make out the edge of the dark gray fogbank, biding its time until it could creep back inland. 

Sitting down briefly on the towel his father had spread on a sloping area of sand, Harry hurriedly stripped off his shirt and shoes, then ran down to the water. A wave broke as he approached the surf, drenching his shorts. Shedding his own shirt and shoes, Severus sat on the towel, amazed at the teenager’s enthusiasm. He was forced again to reflect on the life the boy had endured while in the custody of the Dursleys. As he watched, a wave knocked the boy into the water, but he stood up again, laughing. The unbridled joy that he saw on his son’s face brought a rare grin to his own face, and the Potions master busied himself with covering himself with the sun potion, keeping one eye on Harry as he darted in and out of the waves. He watched as the boy dashed back up the beach and flung himself down on his towel, laughing uproariously, wet, sandy, and happy. Severus was quite certain that Harry had never laughed like this before.

Smiling, the older wizard handed him a flask of grape juice, the American equivalent of pumpkin juice. They shared the sandwiches Harry had made before leaving the house, and watched the play of the waves as they hit the shallows, then broke again as they hit the beach. Sea gulls swooped down when Harry tossed small pieces of bread out to them, and the little blighters got bolder as the boy laid food closer to the towel. They flew away in great flock when the younger wizard made a sudden move towards them. 

After lunch, Severus led the way to an expanse of sand and rock, leaving behind the impressions of his long, slender feet. Harry took great delight in stepping into the footprints to see how his own feet compared, like a small boy would do. 

“Harry, come look at this.” 

The teenager moved over to his father’s side, following his example and carefully stepping only on the exposed rock. The tide was out, and the resulting tidal pool was teeming with life. Many bright colored creatures were sitting in the shallow water or clinging to the rocks, and Severus began to identify some of them for Harry.

“The orange starfish is native to this portion of the Pacific, and this black oblong creature is known as a sea cucumber.” He picked it up and squeezed it gently, causing water to squirt out of many pin-hole sized openings in the creature’s body. 

Settling it back down into the water, the tall man moved on to an outcropping of rock with clumps of barnacles adhering to the sides, and began to carefully remove them. Harry stepped forward with the leather pouch he had carried from their things. It was spelled on the inside to keep the potion ingredients they were harvesting fresh until the wizards could get them back to the house. Sea urchins were next, sea anemones, and then the long, snake-like kelp stalks, which the Potions master only harvested for their crowns. They worked side by side for almost an hour gathering various items. When the pouches were full, Severus sent Harry back down to play in the water.

Harry left his glasses on his towel before running into the waves, and diving into the crest of a wave as it broke on the outer edge of the beach. He was careful to swim parallel to the beach, keeping in mind the riptide his father had told him about. The waves broke around him, pushing him towards the beach, and Harry let himself go limp, riding the current. Rolling up on the beach, he turned about and swam back out, allowing the crest of the wave to carry him back to the sand. At some point he became aware of another presence, and turned to see the most dreaded teacher of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sliding through the water, surfing on the crest of the wave next to him. He grinned madly as the wave tumbled the older man onto the sand.

Walking up the beach to their things together, Harry helped his father pack up their bags. The combination of a drying charm and a cleansing spell cleaned them up enough to make the ride back to the log house tolerable. Although it was only about four in the afternoon, Harry yawned hugely and knew he could use a nap. His yawn threw him off course, and he soared high as they approached the deck, getting a clear look over the top of the roof.

“Papa! Look!” Harry pointed ahead of him urgently.

Over the top of the next ridge, a huge column of brown-gray smoke rose skyward in a cloud shaped like a toadstool, with a billowing dome of smoke roiling at the top.

* * *


	16. Bake, rattle and roll

* * *

They landed near the edge of redwoods, and carried their brooms up to the deck. Dropping off their things near the pool, Harry followed his father around the outside of the house, coming to stand on a flagstone pathway that opened to the rolling hills in front of the house. From the rise the house sat on, it was easy to see the huge flames that leapt from the tall, brown grass of the hillside one ridge over. Large helicopters that looked like gigantic dragonflies appeared to be dropping some type of clear liquid over the grass and bushes. Large aircraft circled higher up, some dropping lower to dump on orange substance, and many figures clad in the yellow protective fire gear stood with hoses too close to the burning brush.

“Brush fires are quite common in the western United States at this time of year,” their host assured them as he walked up the front walkway.

One of the huge insect-like helicopters roared over their heads and released a concentrated burst of water over the worst of the flames. The noise was incredible; George waved his wand over their heads, erecting a silencing charm as they stood and watched the activity on the next ridge.

“Are we in any danger, sir?” Harry asked him, watching the flames leap up the trunk of a lone tree standing on the flank of the hillside, the crown exploding into flame.

“The eucalyptus trees in the area are like candles, laden as they are with oils,” the man told them as they watched another of the same type of tree burst into flames. “And, no, Harry, we are not in any danger here. This side of the ridge is spelled with a fire-retardant charm, although the redwood stand could use a bit of a cleansing.”

Harry watched as the wizard scratched at his neatly trimmed beard, eyeing the small redwood forest to one side of the house. “But sir, isn’t bad if the forest burns?”

“Not redwoods, Harry. If the forest and trees are naturally spaced, a fire will go through and clean the debris off the forest floor, and actually open the pinecones to allow seeds to germinate.”

“Is there anything we might be able help with, George?” Severus asked, his eyes following the circling air tankers as they released their liquid orange loads over the burning trees.

“Not at the moment, Severus, thanks. It really is quite common for these types of fires in our area, and the fire departments usually have them under control quickly.”

The American said his goodbyes before Apparating from the front steps of the house. Severus stood beside his son watching the firefighting efforts along the tree line just below the ridge, where the flames were creeping towards another small copse of berry bushes. Fine ash began to fall around them like snow, and Severus decided it was time to go inside. After collecting the bags and brooms they had left on the back deck, Severus made his way into the kitchen, as Harry paused to watch a family of fleeing deer run along the forest edge. 

Making his way into the kitchen, Severus moved to the sink, where he started to brush the remaining sand off the bag in his hand. An angry hissing sound froze him in mid-motion, and Severus carefully turned his head to see a large snake coiled in the corner, less then a meter from his feet. The denim jeans he wore would be no barrier to the fangs of a reptile of this size, he thought, as the bag he was holding began to slip through his fingers. Knowing any sudden move would set the creature off, the Potions master watched as the bag fell towards the floor as if in slow motion, trying to think of a wandless spell that he could cast in time.

* * *

The Snape family ring on his finger heated suddenly, and Harry knew something was wrong. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to his father’s side and felt a tugging and squeezing sensation, then heard a pop. Opening his eyes, he found himself in the kitchen standing in front of a large rattlesnake, the rattle shaking violently as one of their bags dropped to the floor and the snake poised to strike.

“Stop! Don’t hurt my dad!” Harry shouted at the coiled reptile, switching without conscious thought to Parseltongue. 

The snake stopped, its rattle still shaking violently as it turned to taste the air near Harry, and the teenager felt his father grip his shoulders tightly.

“We will not hurt you, but you must not bite us. Do you seek shelter from the fire?”

The dark eyes seemed to study him. “Yesss, young one, my den was in the path of the fire. I do not mean you or your sssire harm. Isss there a place of sssafety here?”

“Papa, the snake wants to know if he can stay here where it is safe from the fire.”

Severus took a deep breath, his heart still pounding in reaction to having an angry snake at his feet, nodded slowly. “Tell it go outside and pick a likely spot in the shade and we can provide water for him and any others who wish to stay.”

Harry relayed his father’s words to the large rattlesnake in a hiss of sounds, and the snake agreed, slithering off towards the deck. Turning, he saw the older wizard slumped back against the kitchen counter, a hand to his head.

“Are you okay, Papa?” He asked anxiously, putting his hand on Severus’ arm.

“Yes, yes, Harry, I am fine,” the Head of Slytherin reassured him brusquely. “I am just not accustomed to venomous vipers appearing in my kitchen.”

Reaching into the cupboard, Harry smothered a smile as he pulled out a bowl. Filling it with water, he walked out onto the deck, to find the sheltered corner that snake had chosen. Fine ash continued to fall around them, but the pool appeared to have a shielding charm on it, as the ash bounced and slid off to the side of the deck. After making sure everything was in order outside, Harry made his way back in to help his father fix something to eat.

* * *

That evening, the two wizards sat in chairs Severus conjured on the front step and watched the night sky glow orange, as flames leap up for beyond the next ridge. A three quarters moon rose, its orange color like nothing Harry had every seen before. The wind had shifted, and the fire was being blown inland away from the house. The dry grass was consumed at a rapid rate, and Harry was fascinated by the whirling patterns of fire, as the wind kicked up miniature tornados that spread the flames rapidly ahead of the main body of the fire. The aircraft no longer flew overhead, and Harry wondered if that was due to the darkness or the change in the winds, but it made the scene eerily quiet.

By morning all that was left was the strong smell of smoke and rolling hillsides scorched black as far as Harry could see. A thin layer of fog covered the area, and the teenager shivered in the unexpected chill. Coming back inside the front door, Harry saw that his father had lit a fire in the large fireplace and he headed towards to kitchen to start breakfast. The basement door stood open, and Harry knew the older wizard was down in the potions lab brewing something. Their training today was going to be devoted to wandless as well as wordless magic, and Harry’s first lesson in Legilimency. 

Harry had worked hard since they had arrived to learn to shield his mind from Voldemort’s invasion. Like the lessons of the previous spring, Harry had struggled until he found a book that described specifically the best methods to use to clear the mind. It had stunned the Potions master to find out that Harry had no idea of the rudimentary methods taught to most magical children, and the teenager had been embarrassed at what he saw as a failure on his part. Once he had learned to clear his mind, the ability to shield it and block it off had come easily. 

Taking a tray of tea, toast, and bacon into the sitting room, Harry called down the stairs to let the older man know breakfast was ready. Settling in with a text book on how to soundlessly project spells, the teenager piled bacon on a piece of toast and took a large bite. At that moment, the fire flared green and Harry was on the floor, crouched behind the chair before he gave it conscious thought. A figure dressed in deep lavender robes stepped from fireplace.

“Severus? Harry?” 

The familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore reassured Harry, but his father had not said that the Headmaster was coming for a visit. Harry stood slowly, his wand still pointed at the tall elderly wizard. 

“Hello, Harry, it’s good to see you,” the bright blue eyes twinkled merrily over the top of the half-moon spectacles. “I should tell you that I particularly like lemon cake and your father very much likes these chocolate biscuits I brought, and you are fond of the Chocolate Frogs I have in my pocket."

Harry smiled and lowered his wand, as he heard his father coming up the steps from the basement, a small covered, smoking cauldron in his hand. 

“Albus, you are a bit early.”

Severus greeted his mentor with a smile as he moved to set the cauldron on the kitchen counter. Picking the tray up, the Potions master moved out to the deck, the Headmaster looking around the house as Harry and his father ate their breakfast. The morning was cooler than they had become used to, tendrils of fog still winding their way through the trunks of the tall redwoods. With delight, the powerful wizard set off along the trail Harry pointed out to explore the redwoods.

By the time the elderly wizard had returned, the two were finished and Harry took the tray inside to wash up. The still steaming cauldron reminded him of the almost full moon, and he realized with a start the reason Professor Dumbledore had paid them a visit, it was Wolfsbane Potion in the cauldron. Harry thought of Remus, the tired strained look on the man’s face last time they had seen him, and was glad his father continued to make the potion to ease his transformations.

“Come along, Harry, let us show the Headmaster how you are progressing,” his father swept in from the deck, and Harry wondered how he did gave the impression of billowing robes wearing light-weight trousers and a long sleeve pullover. 

It was cooler down in the stone lined basement training room, and Harry was glad he had chosen to wear jeans and a tee shirt. Taking his wand and placing it on the table at by the door, Harry walked to the far end of the room and waited for Severus to get into place. Albus Dumbledore stood midway along the dark wall, watching. Checking to see that all his defenses were in place, Harry stood quietly, with a relaxed air.

The moment he stepped into the room, Severus flicked his wand at his son, sending a mild Jelly Legs jinx at him soundlessly. Harry reacted immediately, sensing the spell coming towards him, and countered with a light defensive shield. Severus continued walking as he threw progressively stronger hexes at his son, all of which the teenager was able to block or shield against. Spinning on his heel, the taller man changed his tactics, throwing a nastier slashing hex at the Headmaster, and watching with satisfaction as Harry spun around in time to cast a golden protective field around the elderly wizard, who watched with amusement. 

Holding the shield around the Headmaster, as well as conjuring a golden shield which he held in his left hand, Harry waved his right hand at his father. The spell took Severus by surprise, and he had to jump to the side to avoid being splattered by mud. Harry in turn blocked the a strong binding jinx, but lost his balance as he threw a stunning spell back, momentary panic making it much stronger than he had wanted. It struck the far wall solidly and Harry could feel the ground he knelt on shake beneath him. It felt like the whole house swayed for a moment and the teenager scrambled to his feet, apologizing.

“I am so sorry, Papa! I must have made it far stronger than I wanted, if that had hit you; it could have really hurt you! I am really sorry!” Harry’s breath was caught in his throat, his mind whirling at the thought of hurting either if the men.

Severus was shocked; he had felt the spell brush past him and did not think it had been extraordinarily powerful, certainly not powerful enough to have rocked the house on its foundation. Harry looked pale, chest heaved, moving in an out like a bellows, as he stood wide-eyed at the end of the room.

“Severus! Harry! Are you down there?” An anxious voice called down the staircase.

“Yes, George, we are in the training room,” Severus yelled back, his concerned eyes on his son as he walked toward him.

“Oh good, everyone okay?” The smiling, bearded face peaked around the corner. “Oh, hello, Albus! Our little earthquake didn’t scare you did it?”

“Earthquake?” 

Severus asked as he casually pulled Harry towards him, and began to gently rub his back. His son was hyperventilating, the pinched ‘I-am-afraid-I’m-in-trouble’ look on his face. He felt the teenager take a shuddering breath and bury his face in Severus’ shoulder, as their host continued to speak.

“Yes, and just a little one at that, couldn’t have been more than a 3 or 4 on the Reiter scale. The San Francisco area is famous for its earthquakes and we feel one or two a month it seems. The last major quake was Loma Prieta in 1989, which did significant damage to the City and surrounding areas.” 

The kindly eyes of the filmmaker rested on Harry, as he slowly relaxed into his father’s loose embrace. Albus took up the conversation, leading the way out of the training room and back up the stairs, drawing the American with him. Severus felt nothing but a fine tremble in the thin shoulders beneath his hand, and gently pushed Harry to arm’s length. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Harry kept his head down, and Severus, tilted it up with a finger so that their eyes met. 

“Yes, Papa, I just thought…I thought I might have hurt you when everything shook.”

“And it would have been an accident if you had, Harry! I know you were not trying to do anything wrong, and that you would never hurt me on purpose,” Severus turned him with an arm around his shoulder, and gently pushed him towards the stairs. “In fact, quite the opposite, as you have already shown me. Now, why don’t you go find your snake friend to show George?”

Harry nodded eagerly and bounded up the stairs ahead of him, as Severus followed at a more sedate speed. George and Albus stood in the sitting room, and Severus felt the American’s eyes turn on him, narrowing. With a hand, he motioned them toward the deck.

“Severus, I know that Albus has told me that you and Harry were recently reconciled, and that he has not been under your care long, but I have to tell you that he bears the signs of being…”

“Abused. Yes, George, I am very aware of that!” The Potions master snapped, before taking a deep breath. “I apologize; it is not your fault, and you have been nothing but kindness itself to us.”

“Anyone who would abuse a child should be strung up, Severus.”

“Quite right you are,” Severus smiled at the American. “Speaking of which, Albus, do you have any news?”

“Unfortunately, yes, Severus, it is the reason I was early, as I was hoping to catch you before Harry got up.” The bright blue eyes were serious as the men sat down at the table and the Headmaster conjured a tea tray. “Someone has gotten to the Dursleys and they have retained a barrister, a wizard no less, to attempt to win custody of your son, saying you kidnapped him from their loving care.”

It took all his considerable strength of will not to hex something into oblivion or swear loudly, but every muscle in his body was rigid as he waited for Dumbledore to continue.

“You will need to come home early, as the Ministry is holding a hearing on Tuesday the 27th. I think you will need to be home by Saturday just to get acclimated again.” 

“That leaves us just three more days to impose on your hospitality, George,” Severus tried to sound light-hearted, and failed miserable as a cold weight pressed against his chest.

Dumbledore reached over and patted one tightly clenched fist. “It will be fine, my boy, parental rights take precedent over any other claim, besides, Harry will have a chance to give testimony.”

“Will the Ministry take any of that into account once they have heard of my youthful indiscretion, Albus? Will they decided the best option for the Boy Who Lived solely based on the fact that I am a former Death Eater?” 

“I believe they will listen to Harry, Severus.” Dumbledore reassured him.

The American wizard glanced toward the end of the deck, and gasped, grabbing on to Severus’ arm with a death grip.

“Sweet Jesus, Severus, your son has a rattlesnake around his neck!”

Wincing at the force of the man’s hand, Severus looked up to see that Harry did indeed have the large snake wrapped around his neck, its rattle shaking furiously as the teenager took the stairs two at a time. The snake hissed loudly and Harry answered back, as Severus attempted to pry the fingers lose.

“It’s quite alright, George, Harry is a Parselmouth,” Albus interjected, and George’s hand went as slack as his mouth.

“Does such a thing really exist? I thought it was a nothing but a legend.” 

Severus rubbed his bruised forearm. “Oh yes, they exist, although I think Harry is one of only two living at the moment, the other being Voldemort.”

Harry stood grinning, his fingers stroking his new friend, as the snake eyed the adults warily.

“Really?” George asked and they could all see the wheels turning in the filmmaker’s head.

“Really, and yes, it would be an incredible idea for a movie,” Severus said dryly, and the man had the grace to look sheepish while the others laughed, forgetting their worries for a moment.

* * *


	17. San Francisco

* * *

The next day dawned sunny and warm, with no sign of fog in the Marin Headlands, and their jovial host insisted on taking them on a tour of San Francisco, the Muggle way. The trio left Lucas Valley in a small sports car, its convertible top down, and Harry could not help but laugh as Severus held on tightly to the door handle. Stopping on the north side of the Golden Gate Bridge, the two adults walked out to the middle. Harry ran ahead of them, and insisted on walking the entire length of the span. The wind blew through the Golden Gate and onto San Pablo Bay toward the Carquinez Straits, and they watched as the large ships maneuvered through the white caps, while smaller boats weaved in and out of their wakes.

Severus kept a watchful eye on his son, a slight smile curving his lips as he watched the teenager’s antics. Harry’s emotional state was something that continued to worry him, as the teenager seemed to put on a stoic façade whenever necessary. He shouldered the weigh of the world, yet crumpled like a much younger child would when he thought he was in trouble. Harry's temper was unpredictable; he might rage at something with a white hot temper, but could revert to seeming like a wide-eyed child when happy. Beneath the mask of the Boy Who Lived, Harry seemed to crave reassuring physical contact, certainly more than a well-adjusted teenager would want from a parent. Watching the sixteen-year-old’s animated face, the ex-Death Eater silently cursed Petunia and Vernon Dursley for the neglect and abuse they had inflicted on the child left in their care. 

Reining in the teenager’s exuberance, they walked back to the car. George kept up a running monologue about the various sights as they drove through the Marina District. Severus found himself watching his son’s face as it filled with wonder and amazement. His heart, the one most students swore he did not possess, ached at the thought of what might have been had he not insisted that his memory be erased that fateful day some fifteen years ago. Determination filled him, and he knew that he would fight the Dursleys' claim to his son with everything he had, and he would keep his promise to Harry: he would never go back to that place again.

Harry was delighted by all the new sights and sounds he experienced as they toured the famous Fisherman’s Wharf. Watching the ferry boats among the ocean liners and cargo ships, he ate both crab and lobster for the first time. Sourdough bread was a bit tangy for his taste, but he laughed when his father exclaimed over the flavor. The Ghirardelli Chocolate Factory was fascinating, but Harry through privately that Honeydukes was better. A cable car took them from the foot of Market Street up into Chinatown, where he was soon immersed in things strange and foreign to him. 

Stopping to peer into the window of a shop that had cooked chicken and ducks hanging from the ceiling, Harry could also make out shelves of what looked like potions ingredients lining the back wall. George had exchanged a few galleons for American dollars, and Harry pushed the door open, stepping inside for a closer look. Jar upon glass jar lined the shelves, and he inspected them closely, trying to find something his father might like. A wizened old man in a set of silk robes appeared before him, eyeing Harry up and down before pulling out a wand. Much to Harry’s astonishment, the wand flicked and a box of tiny vials appeared in his hand. Unfamiliar with the currency, he handed the man all his money. The elderly wizard cackled at him and extracted two bills before pressing the rest back into his hand and waving him out of the store.

On the sidewalk, Harry shook his head at the encounter and carefully stowed the box of what he assumed were potions making materials in his bag. Looking around, Harry swallowed nervously. He couldn't find his father or their American host anywhere in the crowd. It was early afternoon, and the narrow sidewalks of Chinatown bustled with people. Harry hugged the inside of the walkway closest to the shops and sped up, hoping to catch up with the two adults.

* * *

“Severus, may I ask you a question?” 

The Potions master turned from his study of an antique Chinese stone carving in a window to look at the pensive face of his host. “Certainly, George.”

“Are you prepared to fight for Harry?” The American held up a hand as Severus felt the anger flare inside him. “I mean, would you be willing to seek whatever help you might need to keep custody of your son, as well as possibly help him work through some of what has happened to him?"

Cautiously, Severus nodded, not trusting his voice not to snap at a man who was clearly trying to help. George took a deep breath, and met his eyes.

“I have a friend who is what we call here a child advocate. He is a lawyer who has also been trained to recognize and interview abused children, and who represents their interests in court. Not your interests or Dumbledore’s, but Harry’s.” The man waited until Severus nodded before continuing, “He has set time aside this afternoon at my request, without knowing any particular details of your case. I just told him that I had a young man I would like him to speak to. Will you allow Harry to speak to him?”

Severus straightened to his full height and studied the face of the American wizard. "If you were in my place, is this someone you would entrust with one of your children?”

“In a heartbeat,” George told him sincerely.

The ex-Death Eater closed his eyes briefly and then nodded slowly. “If Harry agrees, yes, I will allow it.”

Severus looked around to ask Harry, but he could not find the teenager, nor could he locate the distinctive bright blue shirt the boy was wearing. Severus started to scan the crowd around them, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. Just as the Slytherin was starting to panic, a feeling he hadn’t felt in years, there was a soft pop, and Harry stood beside him looking terrified.

“Papa!” Harry threw his arms around his father’s waist in obvious relief. “How did you get lost?”

Severus took a deep breath as he steadied the teenager against his chest, arms around the boy’s shoulders. “I was right here, young man, where were you?” 

Harry looked up, taking in the frown on his father’s face, and tried to smile. He did not want to admit to being scared when he could not find them. As he had done before, Harry had closed his eyes, envisioned his father, and then willed himself to the older man’s side.

“I, uh, I stopped at a store,” Harry told him. “I thought you were right behind me.”

“Harry,” George interjected quietly. “How did you know where to Apparate to?”

Severus blinked in surprise. The American was right: Harry had Apparated to his side. He braced his hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked down at the guilty expression.

“I just pictured my father in my mind, sir, and pictured myself at his side,” Harry explained. He was not really sure how he did it, he just knew it worked.

“The family rings we both wear have locator charms on them, which may be how Harry can find me, but I am not sure how he is Apparating, nor do I think he knows,” Severus reasoned, sure this was another manifestation of the power Harry was developing. “Have you done this before, son?”

“Just once at the house, Papa,” he admitted, looking up. “Am I in trouble for Apparating?”

Severus shook his head. “No, but I don’t want you to do it again until we have practiced, and then only in an emergency.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered, smothering a smile.

“Harry?”

The teenager looked up at the Potions master, his smile fading as he saw the stern look. “Yes, sir?”

“You are still in trouble for disappearing, young man.”

Harry gulped and dropped his eyes, figuring it was still worth it to have a gift for his father. It was, after all, the first he’d ever bought for him. He fidgeted with the strap of his bag before looking back up and nodding in acceptance. His father squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Harry, George has a man who might be able to help us, and I’d like you to speak to him, if you can.”

The quiet, serious tone of his father’s voice surprised him, and Harry involuntarily tensed. He glanced at the friendly face of the American wizard, only to find that it had taken on a serious look as well. 

“It means I have to talk about the Dursleys, doesn’t it?” He asked quietly.

“Yes, it does.”

“If I do, will it help you keep custody of me?” 

“It should, Harry.”

“All right,” he answered, resigned to the fact that the entire world would find out that he was an unlovable freak, thanks again to his relatives.

* * *

The American ushered them into a plush office in one of the old fashioned Victorian townhouses that over looked San Francisco bay. Harry looked around curiously, thinking the style of the house looked more like the inside of Grimmauld Place than anything else he'd ever seen, although much cleaned and brighter. A pretty blonde woman led them into a large sitting room. Several leather arm chairs and a sofa were grouped around a fireplace, and two large windows on either side showed a wonderful view of the Bay. Harry moved around the room restlessly, turning when he heard another door open.

The man who stepped into the room was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a Muggle suit of dove grey. He was about his father’s age, and had an open, friendly face that reminded Harry of Remus Lupin. His chestnut-colored hair gleamed in the filtered sunlight, and Harry could see that his eyes were a warm brown, reflecting the man’s smile. That smile faded however as the stranger caught sight of Severus Snape.

“Ah, there you are, Ian,” George said cheerfully, stepping forward.

Severus turned as he heard this and stopped dead as he took in a face from his past.

“Ian? Ian McLean?” He could not believe his eyes, and his feet seemed to carry him across the room of their own volition.

“Severus? Is it really you?” The man asked as the two men met in the middle of the room.

Harry, who had been surprised to hear the polished tones of fellow Briton, was shocked to see the stern Head of Slytherin House embrace the stranger with a wide smile. The two men began speaking at the same time. The teenager watched bemused as the two men pounded each other on the back and sized each other up, talking and laughing. Exchanging a puzzled look with George, Harry took a step toward the two men.

“Harry,” his father extended a hand toward him, and Harry moved closer. “I would like you to meet the first friend I ever made at Hogwarts, Ian McLean. Ian, this is my son, Harry.”

Ian McLean smiled down at him, Harry took the hand he extended and shook it. With a sinking heart, he watched the warm brown eyes sweep his face, and knew exactly when they caught sight of his scar, as they widened in surprise.

“A pleasure to meet you, Harry,” the voice was a warm, rich baritone but Harry did not respond to it.

“Mister McLean, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he returned with his best Boy Who Lived manners, pulling his hand back quickly.

“Why am I not surprised that you two know each other?” George stepped forward to shake his friend’s hand.

“George,” the man said warmly, “I take it things are well at Skywalker Ranch?”

Their host nodded and the two friends exchanged pleasantries for a moment. Harry shifted his stance, his eyes trained on the floor and Severus watched him with concerned eyes. It had become easier in the last few weeks to read his son’s face, and he knew the teenager had retreated behind his formal façade, the one that Harry assumed whenever he felt he was on public display. Turning back to the wizard standing beside him, Severus saw that the man was perceptive enough to realize what had happened.

“Ian was a prefect in Slytherin my first year at Hogwarts, and befriended me, helping me adjust to life away from home,” the Head of Slytherin explained. “I tried to keep track of him after he left school, but was unsuccessful.”

This last part was directed to his old friend, who ushered everyone towards the sitting area. Severus pulled Harry down beside him on the sofa, as a tea tray appeared on a low table in the middle of the floor. 

“I immigrated to the States shortly after I got out of university, Severus, because I did not like the changes in the political climate of the British Wizarding community. I completed law school here and am able to practice in both the UK and the USA,” he explained as he served everyone tea. “I understood you joined the Death Eaters, Severus, and that was when I gave up keeping track of you, although you do enjoy quite the reputation as a Potions master, even here.”

Harry sat silently as he listened to his father quickly explain to his old school mate what had happened since they had last met. Trying to look properly attentive, he sipped his tea carefully as Severus told the circumstances of Harry’s conception and the reason the memory had been removed from the then Death Eater, explaining that he had turned from the Dark Lord soon after he was force to take the Dark Mark, becoming a spy for the Light at the same time. In a quiet voice, the Potions master explained what had happened to his cousin, Lily, and their son, and why baby Harry had been placed with the Dursleys. His father’s voice became strained, causing Harry to reach out a hand and place it on the man’s arm, as he spoke of how he had retrieved his son from Privet Drive. When his part of the tale was told, he fell silent abruptly. 

“And I understand that your relatives have filed a challenge for custody of you, Harry?” 

Harry looked up and nodded, meeting the brown eyes. “I do not want to go back to the Dursleys, sir.”

“May I ask why, Harry?” McLean asked him quietly. 

“Primarily because they did not want me in the first place, sir, and I was a burden to them.”

He was startled by the snort his father let out, and Harry turned to look at Severus with a frown. George quietly excused himself, and slipped out of the room. Professor Snape emerged from his father in all his snarky glory, pinning him with a fierce glare.

“I thought we were beyond feeble attempts at deception, Potter.”

Confused, Harry frowned at Severus, who gave him a cold smirk.

“If you are going to play the Boy Who Lived, why should I care?” he snapped. “I much prefer Harry, you know, just Harry.”

It came as a bit of a pleasurable surprise to find that his father did, in fact, know him well enough to see beneath what he thought of as his public face, Harry smiled and allowed himself to be drawn over and tucked into his father’s side.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Mister McLean,” he said quietly. “I just want to stay with my father.”

“Harry,” Severus said, and the teenager looked up at him, “Ian is a child advocate who has worked with George before, and who he recommends highly. Being a child advocate means that he represents your interest, not mine or the Ministry’s or the Dursleys'. Ian would be able to legally speak for you, if you agree, and make sure that your wishes are made known. In order for him to help, you must be honest with him. He needs to know how your relatives treated you and why, specifically, you do not want to go back there.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry began to relate to the man wearing an encouraging smile some of his earliest childhood memories in an even toned voice. He described cooking and cleaning from the time he was old enough to reach the top of the counter, depicted for the lawyer what it was like to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, and told them about his cousin’s ‘Harry Hunting’ games. The advocate’s smile faded as Harry went on, relating the events of the summer after his first year, when his window was barred and he was fed through the cat flap. Harry was aware of his father stiffening at his side. Even though the teenager had told him bits and pieces of the stories, and he had seen even more during their Occlumency lessons, he was amazed again by the depths of the Muggles' abuse. 

“Just a moment, Harry,” McLean held up a hand. “There is no sense in you reliving any more of this. Do you know how to use a Pensieve?”

At Harry’s nod, the wizard stood and made his way over to a cabinet set in the far wall, removing a familiar looking shallow stone basin covered in runes, and carried over. Banishing the tea tray, he set it down on the low table. Flicking his wand again, a number of small vials of a translucent silver substance appeared next to the Pensieve. Seating himself on Harry’s other side; McLean held his wand loosely in his hand.

“What I would like you to do, Harry, is clear everything else out of your mind. Bring forth, one at a time, each of those incidents you mentioned, and any other similar ones that you can recall. When you have the memory firmly in place, I will use my wand to extract it, make a copy of it, and then transfer it to one of these little bottles, alright?”

It took them the better part of an hour to painstakingly copy enough memories to fill a dozen of the small vials, each shimmering strand glinting in the silver liquid. Harry felt drained, and looked up in surprise when the advocate pressed a chunk of chocolate in to his hand.

“Honeydukes finest, of course, the best chocolate in the world!”

Harry smiled as he broke off a piece and put it in his mouth. Severus stirred beside him, having been uncharacteristically silent during the past hour. 

“What do you think our chances are, Ian?” his father asked, staring intently at his old friend.

“I would think they are damn good, Severus! You know how the magical community feels about children, and this aunt and uncle of Harry’s will be lucky to escape Azkaban if the truth comes out!” He shook his head, his eyes on Harry’s pale face. “Why in the world would they want to risk being exposed for the cruelty and neglect they inflicted on an innocent child, to fight for someone they clearly never wanted in the first place?”

“We believe that someone, most probably someone connected with Voldemort, persuaded the Dursleys to file the challenge.”

“More likely they just told them about my inheritance,” Harry added angrily, knowing how important money was to Uncle Vernon. 

Severus tightened the hold he had on his son, the guilt he felt threatening to choke him. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Will you be able to get away, Ian, and accompany us to Hogwarts on Saturday?”

“I would not miss it for the world, Severus!”

* * *


	18. Return to Hogwarts

* * *

The dungeons were cold after the warmth of northern California, and Harry shivered despite the fire burning brightly in the hearth and the warming charm his father had cast on the carpeted floor. They had portkeyed back very early in the morning, knowing it would be lunchtime in Scotland when they arrived. The older wizard had thought this might be the best way to readjust to the time change. He anticipated that they would need a mild sleeping potion that night, but should reacclimate quickly enough to be alert for the hearing on Tuesday morning. Ian McLean had Flooed to his London office and would be staying at the flat he owned there.

Harry looked around with a smile; even though he had really enjoyed their time away, it was nice to be home again. Taking his bag to his bedroom, he unpacked swiftly, listening to the drone of conversation coming from the sitting room. The Headmaster and Remus Lupin had been waiting for them when they arrived in the Headmaster’s circular office to escort them down to the dungeons. Fawkes had flown over and landed on his shoulder, his beak playing with Harry’s longer hair, making the teenager laugh. Undoubtedly, his father was filling them in on what had happened at the advocate’s office. He was probably updating them on Harry’s progress with his training as well, since Remus was to help with that now that they were back at Hogwarts.

Stepping into the bathroom, he stopped and examined his face in the mirror above the sink. The changes he saw in his appearance were subtle: his face had thinned a bit, losing some of the roundness of James’ features, and his cheekbones seemed a bit more pronounced. Harry’s mop of wild hair still stuck out in places, but it was now longer, straighter and finer than it had been, and he could see red tones in its dark depths. His eyes, nose, and lips were something he had inherited from his mother, and thus had not changed. Turning his head from one side to the other, Harry decided he could see a combination of all three of his parents in his features, and he was quite pleased with the result. He especially liked the height he had gained over the past five weeks of regular, healthy meals, nutrition potions, and the breakdown of the appearance charms. Stepping to the door jam, he marked the wood with a corner of his nail before stepping back and inspecting the increase with a smug look. He could now stand almost shoulder-to-shoulder with his father, although he was still a slightly shorter than the older man, which pleased him, as he knew James had been almost as tall as his cousin.

A wave of apprehension swept through him at the thought of having to face the Dursleys in three days’ time, knowing they would do anything they could to make him miserable. Harry knew in his heart that someone was relying on the fact that he was ashamed of the treatment he received at the hands of his relatives to keep him quiet. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Harry knew the Daily Prophet would snap up the story of the Boy Who Lived being beaten up by his Muggle cousin, being forced to live in a cupboard, to act like a house-elf for Muggles, and his face heated at the thought of the outraged attention it would earn him. Mister McLean had asked Harry when he had become aware that normal families did not treat their children the way the Dursleys had treated him, and the teen had had to think hard before it dawned on him that it was only when he was exposed to the Weasley family that summer after his first year at Hogwarts. _How do you know that you are being abused if that is the only life you have known?_ the older man had asked him, a knowing look in his eyes. Speechless, Harry had only been able to stare at him.

“Harry?” His father’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, the concern in the voice echoes in his obsidian eyes. “Are you alright?”

Letting out a breath, Harry nodded. “Yes, just thinking about Tuesday.”

“Don’t,” the Potions master told him sardonically. “It will just give you a headache,” he mocked, but his son could see the smile that played at his lips. “Come, try on the robes we ordered so we can see if they fit.”

* * *

That afternoon and the next day were spent in a flurry of activity, as Harry and Severus got ready for both the new term and the hearing. Helping his father with his chores, including cleaning and organizing the potion stores, brewing a few more potions for the hospital wing, and ensuring that the Slytherin dorms were all in good repair, kept Harry’s hands occupied and mind too busy to drift. Sunday evening they had dinner with Albus Dumbledore and the other Heads of House, and used to the time to go over some of the news they had missed in the past three weeks. The young Gryffindor was delighted to learn that Remus would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts once again. He had to smother a snicker, though, when Professor McGonagall complained that two Divination teachers were two too many. His father glared at him sternly even as his own mouth twitched.

There was bad news as well: the Headmaster told them of more strange deaths and disappearances. Amelia Bones had vanished, and Hestia Jones had been found dead in her cottage, the Dark Mark shimmering in the night sky over it. There would be an Auror squad posted in Hogsmeade to add to the protections already in place for the students. New rules would lock down the dorms at curfew each night, so that no one would be able to get out. Harry flushed when the Headmaster’s blue eyes twinkled at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles as he related that news. No one knew that the Potions master had already confiscated his invisibility cloak, and Harry was not about to admit it. 

It was a quiet walk back down to the dungeons. Harry’s fingers absently opened the fastenings on the dark blue robes his father insisted were proper attire for a young wizard, allowing them to hang open over his black trousers and light blue jumper. His mind flitting from one subject to another, the teenager would have ended up somewhere near the lake if the taller wizard at his side had not directed his movements with a hand on his shoulder. Deep in his soul, Harry knew he would never go back to his aunt and uncle’s house; with a certainty that he would have wagered his life on, he knew that Severus Snape would take him and disappear before he allowed that. Nevertheless, Harry experienced a strong feeling of foreboding when he thought about the trip to the Ministry Tuesday morning.

As if reading his mind, Severus stopped him as they stepped into their chambers, directing him to sit on the couch as he moved over to his desk. Harry removed his robes and carefully folded them before sitting down. The older man returned, cradling a crystal brandy snifter in each hand, a generous amount of amber liquid in one, a mouthful in the other. Handing the latter to Harry, he swirled the amber liquid absentmindedly as he cupped his glass in his hand.

“You must stop worrying, Harry,” his father told him as he sat gracefully on the couch beside him. “You know that I will not allow anything to separate us, nor will Albus permit it. It should be simple a matter of not allowing yourself to be provoked.”

Harry snorted and leaned into his father’s side. “Yes, Father, I will try not to lose my temper.”

The dark eyes examined his face with a speculative look. “As much as I would love to see the look on both Fudge’s and your uncle’s faces if you were to lose control, I would not want the information getting back to Voldemort.” 

Harry chuckled at the image of a purple-faced Vernon Dursley being pummeled by the flying debris he always seemed to create when his temper got the best of him, and it turned into full blown laughter as his imagination added a red-faced Fudge to the image, blown up like a balloon and drifting overhead. The elegant eyebrow that his father arched at him only served as fuel, and Harry laughed harder than he could ever remember laughing, doubling over to clutch his stomach, tears sliding down his face. When he finally calmed, Severus drew him back to lean against his side, and smiled at his antics, relieved to see that the worry lines around his eyes, which no sixteen year-old should have, had eased. They sat in companionable silence, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace, before saying their goodnights.

Severus managed to keep Harry busy enough the next morning that he had no time to dwell on the coming confrontation with the Dursleys; the side benefit of this distraction was the cleanest, most organized Potions classroom in the country. Hiding a smile of anticipation, he walked the teenager back to their rooms, where the two youngest Weasleys, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Neville Longbottom sat waiting. The look of sheer delight on his son’s face helped still the disquieting thought of Longbottom in his personal quarters. With a gentle admonishment to stay well within sight and not to stray near the Forbidden Forest, he squeezed Harry’s shoulder, then sent the six off through the private side door for a picnic and an afternoon on the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

Climbing the moving staircase to the Headmaster’s office, Severus was not surprised to find the door ajar, or to hear the soft murmur of conversation from within. Further opening the oak door, he stepped inside to see a rectangular wooden table in the middle of the office, with trays of sandwiches, fruit, and tea at one end. A stack of parchment along with inkbottles, quills, and a Pensieve sat at the other end. Looking around, the Potions master could see Albus Dumbledore deep in conversation with Ian McLean and an elegantly dressed blonde witch whom Severus did not know.

“Severus!” Albus extended his arm toward him, and Severus moved to stand close enough for the hand to close around his arm. “How did Harry like his surprise?”

“He was delighted, and thank you for making the arrangements for his friends to visit. It will hopefully keep him from brooding further about tomorrow’s hearing.”

Dumbledore nodded as Severus quietly greeted to the advocate, then turned toward the woman with a neutral look.

“My apologies for my appalling manners! Miss Myrna Masters, may I present Professor Severus Snape, Potions master and Harry’s father. Severus, Myrna is the barrister who works for the Order of the Phoenix; she has agreed to represent you.”

Severus executed a formal bow, his eyes sweeping over the woman. She was tall and willowy, her dark blonde hair swept up in an elegant twist, her make-up flawless. She appeared to be in her late fifties, a witch in her prime. 

“I am most grateful for your assistance, Miss Masters, but I must ask you whether you are representing my interests in this matter or the interests of the Order?”

“Would that make a difference to you, Professor Snape?” Her voice was rich and cultured, reminding him of the way Lucius Malfoy spoke.

Severus stepped closer, ignoring the other two in the room, to look intently into the woman’s eyes. “Yes, it would, as my son has come to mean more to me than my own life, and I can not allow anyone who does not have his best interest at heart represent me.”

The cold sapphire eyes lit from within at his reply, and the full lips twitched. “You will be the recipient of my bill, Professor Snape, and I do not come cheap. Although Albus has said this might be a bit of a dirty fight, I am actually looking forward to making sure your son remains in your custody,” she smirked at him. “Satisfied?”

Severus found himself smiling back. “Slytherin, no doubt. Please, address me as Severus,” he extended his hand.

The witch took it in a brief clasp. “I was actually six years behind Tom Riddle, and vowed to do anything to stop that very scary young man after seeing some of the evil he spread my first year at Hogwarts, and yes, I am Slytherin.”

Both Ian and Severus smiled at that, as there was a sense of familiarity to the statement. It turned out that Ian had worked with Myrna before on several cases; in a loud whisper, he assured the Potions master that the witch was a ‘bit of a shark’ when it came to cases involving abused children. They ate lunch while they discussed the way the two lawyers would lay out their case, reminding Severus that the Dursleys would have the opportunity as the ‘wronged’ party to present their statements first, and could make a lasting impression on the Wizengamot. 

Severus blinked at that statement. “The full court? Why?”

“Fudge did the same thing to Harry last summer as well, when he cast the Patronus Charm to save him and his cousin from two Dementors,” Albus said sadly. “It seems to be the Minister’s way of proving he has power over Harry’s life, I believe.”

“It is actually more complicated than that, Albus,” Myrna set down her cup, and looked apologetic. “It is Malfoy money backing this custody challenge. Narcissa has amended the paperwork to add that she, too, is blood-related, no matter how distantly, and could well afford to take care of Harry.”

Ian had to forcibly restrain Severus from leaping out of his chair. Albus Dumbledore was already on his feet, his normally twinkling eyes hard and flashing. “I suspected this was a plot originating from Lord Voldemort; this merely confirms my suspicions. The Malfoy name and money carry much influence with certain factions of the Wizengamot, even if Lucius is currently residing in Azkaban,” he looked across at the young man he loved like a son. “I will not allow anything to happen, Severus.”

The father in him was panicking, but Severus hid behind an impassive mask and nodded, forcing himself to relax into his seat. The barrister cleared her throat quietly, producing a piece of parchment from the pile in front of her.

“They are required to owl you with the change, Severus. As it was not filed until the last minute this morning, it will most likely not get to you by tomorrow,” she continued with an almost evil smirk. “But the Malfoys are not the only ones with ‘friends’ inside the Ministry.”

Ian McLean leaned forward. “I was going to go easy, Severus, and only introduce enough evidence to prove our point, but now I would like to present the full case. Do you think Harry would object, knowing what we may be facing?”

“No,” Severus said quietly, “although I was hoping to spare him of that arduous task, as I believe he is ashamed at what he sees as his own weakness.”

“I would like to file a formal request that anyone testifying submit to Veritaserum, Severus, including you and Harry,” Myrna Masters said, a malicious gleam in her eye. “With your permission, of course. I believe the version you brew is effective on Muggles, correct?”

“I’d like to second that request,” Ian agreed, addressing his colleague. “Can we arrange for that information to get lost as well, so they are not forewarned?”

“Yes, I think I can arrange that.”

Severus swore the woman’s eyes gleamed in anticipation.

* * *

Harry stepped into the sitting room from his bedroom, and watched his father stare into the crackling fire. Dressing gown over his night clothes, a forgotten goblet of what the teenager was sure was firewhisky at his side, the Potions master occupied the exact same position on the couch that he had when Harry left to shower and prepare for bed. The feeling of apprehension that had dogged him since their return to Hogwarts came back full force, and he knew the older man was keeping something from him. He moved into the room to stand beside the older man.

“Papa?”

Severus looked up, and Harry was taken aback by the emotion he saw swirling in the dark eyes. His father motioned for him to sit down, and Harry slid onto the sofa next to the older wizard, leaning against his side as Severus wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” his father asked him quietly.

“Yes, we had a lot of fun,” Harry told him with a smile. “Thank you for inviting them over for the afternoon.”

“I believed you could use a bit of a diversion, Harry.”

Harry looked up and asked quietly. “What are you not telling me?”

His father took a deep breath and shook his head, a rueful smile flitting across his face. “You have come to know me too well in the past weeks, son,” he muttered, a pleased note in his voice.

In a serious but quiet voice, Severus relayed to the teenager what had happened during the meeting in the Headmaster’s office, as well as the plan the two barristers had designed. Harry felt himself stiffen at the news that he would be subjected to questioning not only by Mister McLean, but by the lawyer working for the Dursleys as well. His discomfort turned into anger when he found out who had gotten to the Dursleys, and he smirked when his father told him about using the Veritaserum, delighted that his advocate would have a go at Uncle Vernon while he was under the truth potion’s influence. The news that the hearing was going to be held in front of the full court, again, was the capping glory.

“Someone needs to ask dear Uncle Vernon how much money the Malfoys gave him,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “What was the price Voldemort put on my head? How many Galleons is my life worth?”

* * *


	19. The Hearing

* * *

Much to his relief, Harry slept better than he expected that night, waking clear-headed and calm the next morning. He dressed carefully in a set of new robes, a dark emerald green shot through with ebony highlights and trim, a black under-tunic with black trousers and black dragon-hide boots. He stepped out to see his father, dressed in a set of formal black robes trimmed in green a shade lighter than Harry’s, sitting at the table sipping a cup of tea. His own stomach twisted at the idea of putting anything into it, even as a piece of buttered toast was thrust into his hand. Nibbling on it half-heartedly, Harry sipped a cup of tea, wanting to pace or move or something before he jumped out of his skin.

His father took pity of him, and silently led him from their rooms, out the front entrance, to the edge of the anti-Apparation fields. Tugging Harry closer, Severus gathered him into a loose hug, and Harry soaked up the reassurance he felt there.

“I want you to envision the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, Harry, and I want you to Apparate both of us directly there.”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes in concentration. They had tested his Apparating abilities the last two days they were in California, and the teenager had astounded his father with his ability and range. Although he hated the squeezed feeling that came with this form of travel, Harry found he preferred it to Flooing or using a portkey. Envisioning the lobby at the Ministry, he took them there with a small pop. 

They reappeared in front of the desk of the security wizard, Eric or Ernie or something, Harry could not remember. He was engrossed in reading the Daily Prophet. He flashed his father a triumphant look and moved to stand directly in front of the desk. Barely glancing up, the man took Harry’s wand, and placed it on the strange brass instrument that he remembered from the previous year.

“Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, in use five years. Is that correct?” the wizard said in a bored voice, handing the wand back before Harry could answer; the security wizard never even noticed the Potions master as he had move past the desk and was already standing in front of the lifts. 

The two dark-haired wizards stood silently as the crowd around them ebbed and flowed, stepping into the lift and riding it down. The door opened again, and the cool female voice announced their location.

“Department of Mysteries.”

Harry felt his breath catch in this throat as a sharp wave of grief washed over him, and he was scarcely aware of his father leading him down the staircase to the floor that housed Courtroom Ten. Ian McLean was waiting for them in front of the dark, grimy door with its massive iron lock, his brow creasing into a frown when he saw his young client’s state. His eyes shifted from son to father, who had pulled the teenager into a loose embrace and was rubbing his back in small circles.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Severus said softly, pressing a kiss into the wild raven hair. “Your godfather would want you to be strong today, wouldn’t he?”

Harry took a deep breath, and with a tremendous effort, pulled himself together and slowly drew away from the older man. He quietly greeted the advocate. While the two men exchanged greetings, he cleared his mind carefully.

“Miserable mist and fog this morning, Severus, I must tell you I don’t miss the London weather at all. If you two are ready, there have been chairs set up for us in the front.”

As Harry followed behind the two wizards as they walked into the large, torch-lit dungeon. He glanced to his left and saw that the Dursleys had already arrived. Vernon was clad in an expensive-looking dark blue suit, cut from enough material to make one of the tents Harry had seen at the Quidditch World Cup several summers before. Aunt Petunia sat primly in her chair clad in a canary yellow dress that leached what little color she had from her face, making her look ashen and sickly. A portly man with streaks of silver in his dark hair sat beside his aunt. With his long face, a thin, pointed nose, and large teeth that flashed as he leaned over and spoke to his uncle, the wizard reminded Harry of the pictures of a barracuda that they had seen while in California. Beyond the Barracuda sat an elegant blonde in an ice blue dress with a look of disgust on her haughty features, who Harry readily identified as Narcissa Malfoy.

Turning his head as he followed his father to the high-backed wooden chairs lining the side of the chamber facing his relatives, he saw the chair he’d occupied last year sitting in the middle of the floor, chains still dangling from its arms. There were whispered introductions to his father’s lawyer, then he sat down carefully. Glancing up, Harry could see the members of the Wizengamot filing into the high benches, their plum-colored robes swishing in the quiet room, the silver ‘W’ on the front catching the torchlight. Most of the faces were shadowed, but Harry could see the Headmaster, who waved to him from just left of center in the front row. Cornelius Fudge stormed in, his lime-green bowler hat clashing terribly with his plum robes. 

Seating himself, the Minister of Magic smiled malevolently down at Harry and Severus before calling the Wizengamot to order. The lady representing his father stood up immediately only to be waved back by Fudge, who invited Mister Barracuda to speak first. 

With a flourish, the barrister stood up and bowed deeply to the court. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards. We are here today to correct an injustice and return a young boy to his proper family, a family from whom he was ripped without any regard to either his or their feelings. The poor Dursley family was left heartbroken and devastated! They just want their Harry back.”

Harry was caught between righteous indignation and the overwhelming urge to vomit at this sickly-sweet speech. He could feel his magic starting to swirl around him when a hand clasped his forearm with a firm grip. Looking up, he met his father’s dark eyes and made a conscious effort to calm down. Harry turned back to see that his Aunt was being introduced, and he watched as she looked down her thin nose at the Ministry official who had appeared before her.

“Verita what?” she said sharply, glaring at the solicitor. “Must I take this whatever it is?”

An argument ensued with Fudge and all the lawyers speaking at once. Eventually the Minister of Magic resorted to standing up and gesturing wildly with his hand.

BANG!

Albus Dumbledore held his wand aloft. His interruption, combined with the scowl on his normally cheerful face, was enough to bring everyone to silence. “As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I must insist on order in the courtroom. Yes, Missus Dursley, all witnesses must take the prescribed dose of Veritaserum, as requested by Miss Masters and Mister McLean. This potion has been brewed by the best Potions master in the country and is certified pure.”

Petunia Dursley glared at the Headmaster but took the small vial the short wizard handed her and downed its contents. Immediately, Harry could see the glazed look in her eyes that he associated with the truth potion, and he settled back to watch.

The Barracuda flashed an oily smile to the assembled body of the Wizengamot before warmly addressing Aunt Petunia. “Missus Dursley, you are the aunt by blood of one juvenile male named Harry James Potter, are you not?”

“Yes, I am.”

“And you consider yourself to have a warm and loving home?” 

“Yes, I do.”

“Fourteen and a half years ago you took in your orphaned nephew out of the goodness of your heart, did you not?”

“Yes, Vernon and I did take him in.”

“Even though you already had a toddler the same age?”

Petunia Dursley sniffed at him. “My Dudley is a month older than Harry.”

The oily smile was back. “And you are desperate to have your precious nephew back where he belongs?”

The smile the slid onto his aunt’s face as she turned toward him was so predatory that Harry recoiled in his chair. “Yes, we are.”

The older man stepped aside, bowed to Harry’s side of the room, and sat with a flourish. After a couple of seconds of whispered conversation, Ian McLean stood up and walked to stand in front of Aunt Petunia. 

“Missus Dursley, my name is Ian McLean and I represent Mister Potter-Snape on these proceedings.”

Petunia narrowed her eyes as glared at him. “Who?”

“Harry,” Ian told her. “I want to ask you whether you felt you offered the best possible home to Harry in the years he lived with you.”

“Well, of course we did!” There was a tinge on pink along the woman’s cheekbones.

“If Harry were to be returned to your custody, would he be treated in the same manner he has always been treated by your family?” Ian strolled casually back to his seat, reaching down to pick up something he had set there earlier.

“Of course he would be!” Harry’s aunt sputtered indignantly.

The advocate set the Pensieve Harry recognized from his office onto a table he conjured in front of the witness chair. Retrieving a case, Ian extracted a slender vial and started to uncork it. The Dursleys’ solicitor jumped to his feet.

“I would like to know what Mister McLean thinks he is doing!” 

Ian shot the man a cool look. “Pensieve memories are allowed into testimony as it is a proven fact that only a true memory can be deposited in the Pensieve.”

Fudge opened his mouth to speak, a contemptuous look on his face, until Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat gently. “I will allow it,” he said through clenched teeth.

Ian dumped the vial into the Pensieve and waved his wand at it. “I would like you to watch this scene, Missus Dursley, and tell me whether this was typically how you treated Harry when he was in your care.”

Tapping the side of the Pensieve, the image of a small dark-haired boy of about four rose, swirling from the shimmering liquid. Dressed in rags and painfully thin, the child was walking carefully across a room carrying a tea tray almost bigger than he was, when he stepped on a toy truck and fell, screaming as a pot full of hot tea drenched him. Another child was heard screaming about his toy, while a younger Petunia grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled him to his feet.

“Just look what you did, you freak!” she screeched, slapping him hard across the face. “Can’t you do anything right, you worthless lump?”

Little Harry tried to stand, but his ankle was obviously hurt and gave way under him, which only seemed to infuriate the woman more. She dragged him by his arm to the cupboard under the stairs. Throwing open the door, she heaved him into the space with an audible crash, and the memory faded.

Not a sound was heard in the large stone courtroom. Harry took a deep, bracing breath, and tried to shift in his seat, but he was pinned by the death grip his father had on his arm. Putting his other hand over Severus’, he tugged gently, and the hand relaxed slightly.

“Well, Missus Dursley,” the tall solicitor asked in a steely voice, “is that what you feel is the best way to treat a baby left in your care?”

“Discipline was always important to keep Harry on task,” Petunia said, her face now pale.

Ian McLean appeared to ponder that. “Did you ‘discipline’ your own son the same way, Missus Dursley?”

“Dudley did not require much discipline,” his aunt simpered. “He is such a good boy.”

Everyone in the courtroom was staring at his aunt, even Malfoy’s mother, Harry noticed, as his lawyer emptied several more vials into the Pensieve. Again he tapped it with his wand and stepped back so that everyone could see the enlarged image. Harry glanced up as one of his first memories of his cousin ‘Harry Hunting’ with his gang started. He was about six, again dressed in his cousin’s hand-me-downs, and trying to out-run four other boys, when he tripped and was pounced upon. Petunia stood in the doorway of the house and watched, laughing.

The memories flowed into a pudgy, blond-haired Dudley at seven years old, sitting in front of a huge mound of Christmas presents, Harry on his knees beside them. 

“Mummy!” Dudley wailed. “Harry’s touching my presents!”

Vernon Dursley stormed into the memory and grabbed the kneeling boy by the hair hauling him roughly to his feet and backhanding him with a meaty hand. “What do you think you are doing, boy?” 

“I was just trying to see if Father Christmas remembered me this year, Uncle Vernon,” little Harry said, looking up, sadness etched on his face.

Vernon shook him by the hair. “Father Christmas doesn’t bring presents to abnormal freaks like you!” Dragging him down the hallway, Vernon slammed him into the cupboard.

The scene shifted. Harry was a little older, still thin, his glasses broken and held together with tape, and his worn, tattered clothes hung on him. He was painstakingly mowing the yard when Vernon stepped out into the bright sunlight.

“I told you I wanted this all done before dinner, boy!” the large, fleshy man said, his voice moderated so the neighbors couldn’t hear. “You can just work through dinner again, then, and get it finished.”

“But Uncle Vernon…” Harry started to protest, only to have his uncle grab him by the hair.

“I think you can work until bedtime, then, and skip breakfast as well,” Vernon’s voice was quiet, in direct contrast to the man’s purple face. “Do you understand me, boy?”

The figures swirled back down into the Pensieve, and Harry became aware of his father’s arm around his shoulder, pulled as close to his side as the uncomfortable chairs allowed. Reluctantly, Harry glanced up at the court; he felt the sharp blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore look down at him with sorrow, and looked away to see Cornelius Fudge shoot a thunderous look at Ian McLean. The other faces that he could see registered some measure of shock and dismay, as everyone’s attention was directed back to the Pensieve.

This scene was the beating that Dudley’s gang had given Harry the day he had received the package from Lily. It showed how Harry was kicked and punched while Dudley taunted him.

“Can’t defend yourself, can you, freak? Don’t want to get chucked out of that freak school you go to, do you?”

The tall wizard tapped the Pensieve and turned to look at Petunia Dursley. “Is this the kind of love and caring you will continue to show your nephew?”

Petunia twisted her hands together in her lap, trying to get around the truth serum. “Boys will be boys, you know. Dudley and his friends were just teasing the boy! No harm was done!”

“Actually, ma’am, Harry had several cracked ribs and other injuries when his father retrieved him that same afternoon,” Ian told her and the court quietly, his eyes intent on Petunia. “Have you ever actually been a mother to Harry?”

The woman stiffened and remained silent, her eyes huge in her pale face.

“Did you ever hold him when he was sick or scared? Did you ever touch him in anything but anger? Have you ever even kissed your sister’s son?”

The look of revulsion on his aunt’s face cut Harry to the core, despite everything he knew of her. He knew they hated him, but to have them slap him in the face with it was harder to take he would have imagined. As Harry’s eyes were riveted to that bony face, Ian dismissed his aunt with a sneer, clearing communicating his disgust of the woman and her inability to answer his questions. Silence reigned again as his uncle was called forward, and swallowed the tiny amount of truth potion with a scowl. 

The oily smile once more graced the Barracuda’s face as he led the immense man through a series of neutral and ambiguous questions about the Dursleys’ home life, and how Harry fit into it, but nothing specific about Harry himself. Vernon’s ruddy complexion gleamed with sweat as his solicitor sat down and the elegant figure of Myrna Masters stood. Harry watched as the witch moved gracefully towards the obese man, and smiled at him.

“Good morning, Mister Dursley. I simply wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if I might?” His uncle nodded warily. “Do you truly wish Mister Potter-Snape to return to your home?” There was a delicate emphasis on Harry’s last names.

“Yes,” the man answered, his beady eyes agleam. “The boy needs to come home with us.”

“Ah, yes.” The blonde eyed him shrewdly, her smile deceptively sweet. “You need to take him home immediately, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Vernon answered reluctantly.

“Those are your instructions, aren’t they, Mister Dursley? Win custody, and take him immediately back to Surrey?”

“Y…yes,” Vernon gulped, his face losing color. His solicitor on his feet, objecting.

Myrna sent the oily man a glare and he subsided, but remained standing. She circled Vernon slowly. Harry felt his father tighten the arm he held around his shoulders, and anger slowly built in his chest, replacing the feeling of sorrow and rejection.

“Tell me, Mister Dursley, how much money have you been promised to deliver your nephew today?” she asked in a dangerous voice.

The gleam in Vernon Dursley’s eyes was decidedly malevolent. “Enough to quit my job and for my family to live like royalty for the rest of our lives!”

Harry could not help gasping, but his was lost in the sounds of the cries of outrage coming from the others present. While he was not surprised by the words and had even anticipated them, it did not make it hurt any less, and just added to the anger he was feeling as his eyes welled with tears. He felt rather than saw his father turn in his seat and wrap his arms around him, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“You are priceless to me, Harry. Don’t let the bloody prat get to you!” Severus whispered into his ear. Harry nodded jerkily, leaning into the comforting embrace.

Myrna was circling Vernon Dursley slowly. “So you would sell your nephew to the highest bidder, even knowing that it would cost him his life?”

“Yes,” His uncle spat defiantly. “We never wanted him, but got landed with the freak went he was left on our doorstep! We tried to stamp the abnormality out of him, to make sure he didn’t grow up a freak like his parents, but no, he had to go and be a wizard! Good riddance, I say!”

The up-roar in the courtroom was deafening. Vernon was directed back to his seat, and Narcissa Malfoy glared at him as though she was going to hex him. A tall man stepped from the shadows at the rear of the chamber to stand behind the Dursleys, and Harry recognized Kingsley Shacklebolt’s gleaming, bald head. He turned his face into his father’s robes, feeling a multitude of eyes on them, and pictured the glare the Potions master was giving the gawkers. Taking a deep breath, recognizing the scent of sandalwood and cinnamon that was uniquely his father’s, Harry tried to calm the emotion swirling in his chest. It took several minutes to calm the chaos in the chamber and by the time order was restored, the Minister of Magic looked quite out of sorts, making Harry wonder how many galleons had found their way to his pocket before the hearing. Albus Dumbledore sat quietly; his blue eyes were steely as he quietly observed the Dursley contingent. Harry looked up as Severus settled him back in his seat, and could see the sorrow and regret in those same blue eyes as they lingered on the two of them. Severus was called to testify next. 

Harry choked back a snort as he watched his father, the Potions master, examine the Veritaserum minutely, holding the vial up to the light and sniffing it before finally swallowing the contents. Myrna carried the small Pensieve Lily had sent him to the conjured table beside where his father sat. Ian McLean slid over to sit next to Harry, a comforting presence to the nervous teenager, who was worried about the ordeal Severus would be going through.

“Good morning, Professor Snape. I understand that you were recently reacquainted with the knowledge that Harry James Potter-Snape is your son?”

“Yes, in late June.”

Myrna paced in front of him, a piece of parchment in her hand. “This was done by a time-delayed letter sent to you by Harry’s mother, Lily?”

“Yes, along with a small Pensieve of memories which I had voluntarily removed almost fifteen years before.”

“These memories concerned the unusual way Harry was conceived by Lily, James Potter, and yourself as his biological parents?”

“Yes, my cousin was rendered infertile by a Death Eater’s hex. I brewed the potion they needed to conceive, using my own semen and James’ blood.”

“You were involved in every aspect of the pregnancy then, from the conception to the birth?”

“Yes,” the Potions master answered quietly.

“This letter seems to indicate that Missus Potter was concerned about where Harry would go if something happened to her and her husband, James, prior to you retrieving your memories, correct?”

“Yes.” 

“Once you had your memories back, and had read the entire letter Lily Potter wrote you, was there a more specific concern for Harry’s wellbeing, if something happened to them?”

Harry felt the dark eyes sweep over him, and met them with a smile.

“Lily was concerned that her sister, Petunia, would get custody of Harry and mistreat him. Petunia hated Lily, and hated anything to do with magic.”

“Professor, why did you immediately go to the Dursleys and retrieve your son?”

Severus favored Harry with a smile. “Harry and I had been corresponding about a school matter since the end of term, and I had just received a letter from him when Lily’s package arrived. After my memories were restored, I picked up Harry’s letter and saw a blood smear on the back of it. I felt that, in light of that discovery and Lily’s revelations, there was an urgent reason to check my son’s welfare.”

The witch gestured at the larger of the two Pensieves. “The last scene we saw in the Harry’s memories was the incident that happened the same day you went to check on him, is that correct?” 

“Yes, and I chose to immediately remove Harry from the residence and transported him to Hogwarts, where it took three days for our mediwitch to heal him.”

“I see,” Myrna walked to the table and pointed at the smaller Pensieve. “This is what Lily Potter sent you, and it verifies all the information you have just told us?”

“That is actually the Pensieve Harry received from his mother, as I returned all my memories to my mind,” Severus told her as he beckoned Harry forward with a nod.

Harry unfolded from his chair, determined to move as gracefully as his father as he walked to the table.

“Just tap it, dear, and I will enlarge the view.”

Harry tapped the Pensieve with his wand and returned to his seat. Closing his eyes to listen to the rich, melodious voice of his mum, he let the sound wash over him. It soothed him to listen to the emotions she was projecting, as if the love in her voice were caressing him. 

“Were you pleased that your memories had been returned, Professor?”

“Yes, although I wasn’t sure how Harry would feel. You see, I was under the impression that he was loved and treasured by his family and would not want anything to do with me; of course, that turned out to be exactly opposite of the truth.”

“Do you love Harry?”

The obsidian eyes sought his and Harry met them with a smile. “Yes, more than I ever thought possible.”

“Do you believe Harry loves you?”

Severus snorted, his eyes soft on his son’s face. “Despite my past mistakes, despite my somewhat austere personality, and despite the abuse he has already suffered, yes, I believe Harry returns my affections.”

Myrna Masters nodded and sat down, while Ian Mclean gestured toward the Minister, indicating he was satisfied with the testimony. The Dursleys’ lawyer stood and smoothed his lapels. Flashing his oily smile, he strode to the chair Severus occupied.

“Mister Snape…”

“Professor Snape,” the Potions master corrected him in a cold voice.

The man blinked, and cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, Professor Snape, aren’t you a Death Eater?”

“No.”

The Barracuda must have thought he had an opening. “You were Marked and have been in service to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for many years, have you not?”

“No,” Severus said in the scathing voice that sent most first years fleeing in terror. “I was Marked when I was barely Harry’s age, and as you saw in Lily Potter’s memories, I have been spying for the Light since before he was conceived. I am not a Death Eater.”

“So you are a traitor whose life is in constant danger, and therefore, you are not a suitable guardian for this boy, correct?”

“My life would be in danger regardless, and that aside, I am not in nearly as much danger as my son is. I can at least protect him from that danger with my expertise and inside knowledge.” 

“My understanding is that the boy is safest in his relatives’ home.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “The ‘boy’ has a name, either Harry or Mister Potter-Snape, and I would suggest you start addressing him as such! As to his safety, I would think relatives who have already admitted that they have sold my son to the highest bidder are less than likely to ensure that he remains alive!”

The oily smile slid off Barracuda’s face as his father snarled the last words at him, and he slunk back to his seat. Summarily dismissed, the Potions master made his way gracefully back to his own seat as Harry stood. Standing together for a moment, Harry leaned into his father’s side and received a one-armed hug.

“You will do fine, just don’t let him make you angry,” Severus told him in a low voice.

Harry tried to smile as he walked up to the center chair, its unlocked manacles and chains hanging quietly from the arms. He seated himself gingerly on the hard surface, no more comfortable now than he had been the previous summer. Ian McLean smiled at Harry as he drank the Veritaserum without comment. 

“How are you doing, Harry?”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Can you tell me how you feel about Professor Snape, Harry?”

Harry had to smile. “Well, sir, Professor Snape is my potions teacher, a rather snarky git who enjoys taking points from Gryffindor at every opportunity,” he paused as scattered laughter erupted. “Severus Snape, my father, is someone who loves me and takes care of me, yells at me when I do something stupid, and hugs me when I need it. In the past two months, I have learned what it is to actually have someone who cares about me, and I have come to love him very much.”

“Do you believe that your life is better now that you and Professor Snape have been reunited?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I am glad that my mum sent me the package. I would never have known what it was to have a parent otherwise.”

“The Dursleys did not fill the role of parents for you?”

Harry shook his head. “No, they were Dudley’s parents, not mine. I was a burden foisted on them against their will, and they reminded me of that and how much I owed them every day.” 

“Do you wish to remain with your father, Harry?”

“Yes, I do.”

Myrna Masters stood up as Ian returned to his seat, and approached him with a smile. “Mister Potter-Snape, in your years as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did Professor Snape treats you differently than other students?”

A grin broke free before Harry could stop it. “Professor Snape was never awed by my supposed ‘fame.’ He made that blatantly clear to me and treated me as well as he did any other student. He did manage to save my life on a number of occasions, in addition to tutoring me in special sessions during the evenings last year.”

“This was before he recovered his memories, correct?”

Yes, ma’am,” he replied quietly. “This was when he still believed that James Potter was his worse enemy, and I was a carbon copy of my dad.”

The witch smiled encouragingly at him. “How has Professor Snape disciplined you since you’ve been together?” 

Harry shifted nervously on the hard chair. “He yelled at me for flying recklessly, and then grounded me.”

“Was this different from how the Dursleys punished you?”

“Yes, my father still allowed me to eat even though I was grounded, he has never hit me with anything, not even his hand, and he has never locked me in a cupboard for days on end.”

The solicitor allowed the silence in the courtroom to stretch out for several moments, as she seemed to be reading a parchment. 

“I see that you have inherited both the Potter and the Black family fortunes, Mister Potter-Snape, and are the sole heir to the Snape fortune, yet up until Professor Snape took you shopping, you wore only clothing that was oversized and worn. May I ask you why?”

“The Dursleys never bought me anything, ma’am. I wore Dudley’s old clothes, except for my school robes, which I bought myself. Even my glasses were donated by the Muggle school nurse when she discovered I needed them,” Harry said, his face hot with embarrassment. “After I discovered that my parents had left me money, I did not want to let the Dursleys know about it, because I was sure their disgust of me and my parents would not extend to a pile of gold, and they would take it away from me.”

“How do you feel about the possibility that Narcissa Malfoy might get custody of you?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and scowled, his resemblance to his father very apparent for a moment. “I feel very uneasy, as her husband is a known Death Eater who I helped send to Azkaban in June. Her son makes blames me for that and has already said he plans to kill me. Missus Malfoy has never made any attempt in the past to do anything but look at me with loathing. I am not even sure how we are related, except that she and her sister were my godfather’s least favorite cousins.” 

She patted his hand gently. “Thank you, Harry.”

As the blonde sat down, Harry sought out his father’s dark eyes for reassurance, and was warmed by the love he saw in them. The truth potion on an empty stomach had made him a little nauseated, and he swallowed hard. The dark suit of the Dursleys’ solicitor slid into his line of sight, blocking his sight of his father.

“Good morning, Harry.”

“I would prefer you address me as Mister Potter-Snape,” the teenager requested, sitting straight in his chair, his public mask in place.

“Mister Potter-Snape,” the man sneered back, dropping all pretence of civility, “you seem to be attempting to present a less than truthful portrayal of your life with your aunt and uncle. They provided you with everything you needed to live, did they not?”

“No, they did not. The Dursleys provided enough for me to be able to survive physically. They provided no emotional support; in fact, they used every opportunity available to berate me for existing, for being a freak, for intruding on their neat little lives. I never was taken to a doctor, no matter how badly I was injured or how sick I was. I was locked in my cupboard for being an inconvenience. I did not even know when my own birthday was until a teacher told me when I started school.”

“And your dad, the Death Eater, does better than that?” Barracuda was now red faced and sweating.

Harry could feel the anger building in his chest, his magic starting to swirl. “My dad was murdered when I was fifteen months old by the madman who is currently paying your fee, simply because he dared to try and protect his wife and son,” he bit out, his voice calm and bitterly cold. “My father, Severus Snape, has spent the last two months trying to repair fourteen years of damage, but has made it clear that he loves and accepts me.”

Harry took a breath, pinning the lawyer with a piercing look. “Did the Dursleys tell you that aside from beating me, they never touched me? Do you know what it is like to never have felt the warmth of human contact? To never have been held or comforted, not even a pat on the back? How do you hate a child so much that you refuse to even touch him? The Dursleys hated me that much, and now you want me say any part of my childhood was acceptable? No, sir, it was not.”

Outraged at the thought of returning to his relatives’ custody, seething with long-buried anger, Harry could feel his hair blowing in the breeze created as his magic swirled around him. He tried to rein in his temper. Clenching his hands into fists, he closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Just as he thought it was going to get away from him, there was a familiar hand on his head. Fingers carded through his hair slowly, grounding him and allowing him to refocus his attention.

“Breathe deeply, Harry, calm down,” his father whispered in his ear, and Harry leaned into the caress.

Opening his eyes a moment later, Harry saw that the Barracuda had returned to his seat, his face still red. Beside him, Uncle Vernon was purple with rage. A hand on his back urged Harry out of the chair, and he followed his father back to their seats. The Wizengamot members were talking amongst themselves, their voices a buzz of indecipherable noise to the teenager. The Veritaserum was still making his stomach churn, and he leaned his head on his father’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Severus looked down as his son’s pale face and felt a wave of pride. Harry had comported himself with dignity, even as his deepest secrets were played out in public. He was again saddened by what he had learned of the teenager’s childhood, and cringed at the neglect and abused he’d suffered. The last statements about being touched explained why his sixteen-year-old son still crawled into his lap was he was distraught or in pain. Vowing to do anything he could to repair the damage that had been done, Severus slid an arm around Harry’s shoulders and waited for the ruling.

They didn’t have to wait long, and were treated to quite a show while the decision was being made. They could see an irate Cornelius Fudge throwing what could only be a temper tantrum behind a silencing charm. Albus Dumbledore’s face had gone from patient to eyes blazing in anger, and Harry was very glad he was not on the receiving end of that look. Severus snorted as he watched.

“Fudge is a bloody idiot.”

Harry did not even have time to nod before the silencing charm was lifted and he was asked to stand. Severus Snape stood at his side, the Minister of Magic glaring at both as he read the pronouncement. 

“In the matter of legal custody of Harry James Potter-Snape, the Wizengamot awards full legal custody to his father, Severus Snape.”

Before Harry could react, Fudge read on. “Furthermore, Vernon and Petunia Dursley are hereby ordered to face charges of neglect and abuse of a wizarding child. Auror Shacklebolt, please take them into custody.” 

The room exploded into noise and Harry felt himself enveloped in a hug from his father. The feeling of relief was so strong it staggered him, and he had to cling as he caught his breath. The bang of the heavy door at the chamber’s entrance cut through the noise.

“Everyone come help! The Ministry is surrounded by Dementors!”

* * *


	20. Fight or flight

* * *

In the chaos generated as panic prevailed, Harry found himself being swept along in the crowd, his father and Professor Dumbledore right behind him. The large stone dungeon emptied, and the mass pushed toward the staircase, their wands drawn. Caught in the stream, Harry found himself suffocating as bodies pressed against him, and he stepped out of the flow, dodging to the side near the door that led to the Department of Mysteries. A tidal wave of emotion flooded him at the sight of the door he had dreamed of for so many months last year, but by sheer force of will, Harry pushed the memories back into their niche in his mind.

The crowd had thinned in the hallway, but Harry could hear shouts close by. Poking his head around the corner, he saw a group of witches and wizards dueling with several robed Death Eaters, and realized grimly that the Dementor attack had been a diversion; the real attack was on him. A jet of green light flew from Narcissa Malfoy’s wand as Harry eased his wand out of his holster, and he watched in horrified fascination as his uncle fell to the ground, enveloped in the eerie flash of spell light. Harry did not have to look at him to know Vernon Dursley was dead, an expression of terror still twisting his face. Further along the narrow hallway, near the lift, Albus Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt were outnumbered, dueling their four cloaked, masked opponents. Cornelius Fudge huddled against the wall behind Mrs. Malfoy, hands covering his face as he flinched at each loud sound.

“No, no, no! You were just supposed to get Potter, not do this!”

“Shut up, you sniveling little idiot!” the blonde witch snarled at the cowering figure of the Minister of Magic. “You got your money, what do you care how it ends?”

A flare of red spell light to the left drew Harry fully into the hallway, his eyes searching for his father. His heart stuttered as he saw Severus shielding Petunia Dursley with his body, dueling furiously with Bellatrix Lestrange. The bitch was cackling maniacally as she bore down on them, Narcissa moving to join her. His father’s legs buckled as a slashing hex drew blood, and the young Gryffindor watched as Severus dropped to his knees, his wand never stopping. Petunia screamed repeatedly, trying to get away from where the Potions master had her pinned against the wall, Narcissa laughed as she hit Harry’s aunt with another hex that cut her arm to the bone, swinging around and brushing the Potions master with a blast of purple spell light that just missed his aunt. 

Forgetting that he was supposed to remain in the background and not give away the strength of his magic, forgetting everything by his father’s safety, Harry took two steps toward them. With a silent stunning spell, he dropped Narcissa before spinning toward Bellatrix.

“It is itty bitty Potter coming out to play! Bad boy, your papa is going to die a hideous death because of you!” 

Bellatrix cast an easily blocked stunning spell, but defending himself delayed Harry enough for the dark-haired witch to fire a hex at Severus. She grabbed his father’s shoulder, and the teenager knew she was going to Apparate away with him as a hostage. Without bothering with his wand, Harry hit her with an anti-Apparation charm. A horrible scream filled the hallway as half of Bellatrix disappeared, taking Severus with her. In stunned disbelief, the young wizard watched as an arm, a leg, and part of her torso fell to the floor. The spell had caused the woman to fatally splinch herself.

“Harry!” 

Albus Dumbledore stood beside him, a tight grip on his arm, preventing Harry from immediately following the pair. A quick glance around showed him that both Narcissa and his aunt were still unconscious, and Kingsley had three other Death Eaters bound and on the floor. Seeing his father’s distinctive wand lying near his stunned aunt, Harry bent down and picked it up, sliding it into his holster along with his own.

“I know that you want to go after your father, Harry, and I realize that time is a commodity in short supply, but if you Apparate to his side this minute, it would be suicide. Come back to Hogwarts with me. You can retrieve your invisibility cloak, and I will weave an additional tracking charm onto your ring.”

With a tight nod, the grim-faced teenager readied himself to be Apparated, knowing Dumbledore would take them right to the dungeons. The very ring he spoke of was already warming on Harry’s finger, a sign that Severus was in imminent danger. In the blink of an eye, the mess at the Ministry was under control, and the Headmaster gripped his arm. The sensation of being squeezed through a tube was brief, and before he knew it, Harry stood in front of the fireplace in their sitting room; his new dress robes worse for the wear. The older wizard let go of him immediately, gesturing toward his bedroom.

Moving quickly, Harry ran into his room and threw off his clothing, pulling on a black pullover and Muggle-style black jeans. He checked the wands in his holster before returning to the sitting room, where Albus Dumbledore stood, the invisibility cloak that had belonged to James Potter over his arm. The scar on his forehead throbbed suddenly with renewed pain, and Harry knew Voldemort was being told about what had happened in the Ministry of Magic.

“Cover yourself, Harry,” the elderly wizard told him gravely, handing over the cloak, knowing the teenager would go with or without his permission. “Apparate to your father and keep him safe until the Order and I can disable the wards and join you. Extend your hand, please.”

Harry did as he was asked; a wave of Dumbledore’s wand and a muttered incantation later, and the family ring his father had given him flared gold with the added tracking spell.

Harry threw the cloak over his shoulders, glancing up with worried eyes. “Will the wards allow me through?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded his face serious. “The magic in your scar should be enough for you to be recognized as Voldemort, I believe, and will let you pass without a problem. However, they may be aware that someone has breeched the wards.” 

Reassured, Harry moved toward the door, pausing as the white-hot pain seared his head momentarily, a sure sign of the evil wizard’s anger.

“Go now, Harry, quickly, and please be careful!” Dumbledore rested his hand on the thin shoulder for a moment before giving Harry a nudge.

Taking off in a run, the teen hurried through the castle, appearing to anyone who saw him to be a disembodied head bobbing around, with no visible body. He ran down the main steps and followed the path to the spot where he’d found Severus after his last Death Eater meeting. Pausing to pull the cloak over his head and to try to slow down his breathing, Harry closed his eyes. Concentrating on his father, he felt the now familiar pull and squeeze of Apparation.

OOOOO 

The room he found himself in was dark, dank, and unfortunately, very familiar: it was the chamber where Voldemort liked to hold meetings with his faithful. In the far back of the room, Bellatrix Lestrange lay in a pool of blood, her lifeless eyes open and staring. Beside him, Severus Snape knelt on the hard floor with his hands bound behind his back, swaying with fatigue. They were surrounded by black-robed, masked Death Eaters, who stood in absolute silence. The torches that flickered from their holders around the room provided minimal light, and yet all eyes around him were trained on the door at the front of the room, waiting for the first glimpse of their master.

Moving silently, Harry stepped over his father’s legs, straddling them to stand close behind him as he moved his hands in a series of silent healing spells. He was close enough to see the fine tremor that shook the Potions master, and Harry wondered how many torturous spells the man had endured in the twenty minutes he’d been held captive. Chancing that the older wizard would know it was him, Harry laid a cloaked hand on the man’s shoulder, magically loosening the ropes that bound him. Severus kept his head down, never so much as twitching. Grasping the tip of the larger wand in his holster, Harry slid the handle of the long wand carefully into the older man’s right hand. The taller wizard leaned back slightly until he was propped against his son, then he sagged a little, reassured when the teenager squeezed his shoulder gently.

The door at the end of the chamber burst open; Harry’s scar burst with pain as Voldemort swept into the room. He moved with deliberate, measured strides to stand in front of Snape. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, Harry tensed and pressed closer to Severus, not caring if the evil wizard noticed anything amiss. 

“You look quite well for a dead man, Snape,” Voldemort taunted, his scarlet eyes boring into the kneeling man.

Harry watched as his father slowly lifted his head, a smile playing around his lips. “And you are one ugly half-blood bastard, Tom Riddle.”

Wand whipping before Harry could blink, the Dark Lord screamed, “ _Crucio_!”

Feeling the older man stiffen against him, Harry reacted with a non-verbal, “ _Expelliarmus_!” 

It was amusing to see the wand go flying. The evil wizard whirled around, his wand already summoned back into his hand, to see who had defied him. Not a single Death Eater twitched as the inhuman gaze swept over them. The teenager could feel the bastard’s growing fury, and knew they could not wait any longer for the Order. 

“Who dares to challenge me?” The slits of red narrowed as they swept the room again.

When Voldemort’s back was turned, Harry whipped the invisibility cloak over his head, draping it over his father, who still knelt on the hard floor. His wand out and moving, Harry conjured a shining gold shield, which he held out from his body, placing it in front of his father. 

“I challenge you, Tom! For all your pure-blood prejudices, you are not good enough to wipe my father’s boots! Why don’t you tell everyone about your Muggle father, Tom?”

The distracting slur had the desired effect, goading the evil wizard to throw spell after spell at him in his fury. Harry easily deflected most of them, although a Cruciatus brushed his shoulder before he could block it. The Death Eaters behind him were beginning to move when the young Gryffindor extended the shield in their direction and grasped Severus’ shoulder. The last spell Voldemort cast at him connected with his chest, just as Harry Apparated both of them out of the chamber. 

Using all his power, the young man kept his focus on what he was doing until his feet hit the ground outside Hogwarts, landing at the base of one of the winged boars that guarded the gates to the school. He fell to his knees, and his lungs constricted painfully, forcing all the air out of him. As the dark edges of his vision began to close in, he shot his Patronus toward the castle to summon help. He wrapped his arms around the now unconscious form of his father, who was still covered in the invisibility cloak that had once belonged to the man’s beloved cousin, and slipped into the darkness that beckoned.

OOOOO

Harry knew before he opened his eyes that he had managed, once again, to land himself in the hospital wing, and he groaned silently in dismay. The room was dark, save a single flickering torch somewhere down the wall, near the double front doors, he thought. It took him a moment to remember what had happened, and when he did, he tried to lift his head to search for his father, but his head would not cooperate. It was as if he had been bound to the cot he was lying on, and a moan escaped him as panic set in.

“Shhh, Harry,” his father’s dulcet tones washed over him. “I am right here, and I am fine, we’re both fine.”

“I can’t move, Papa!” Harry cringed inside at the neediness of his words. “And I can’t see you!”

“Poppy bound you, son. You were thrashing around so hard she was concerned you would harm yourself further.”

“What…what happened?” Harry stopped trying to struggle. “Are you all right?”

“I have been better, but I will be fine in a day or two, as will you,” Severus told him, but the teenager could hear the strain in his father’s voice.

The lights flared and Harry heard sharp, quick steps approach just before the tired face of Poppy Pomfrey became visible above him.

“Oh very good, you are awake, child,” came the falsely cheerful voice of the white-clad woman. 

A whispered incantation later, and Harry could feel his muscles sag, a sharp jolt of pain running through his chest. The mediwitch passed her wand over him repeatedly, mumbling to herself, and a large hand slid over his, gripping it firmly, reassuringly. A vial of potion was pressed to his lips, and a hand slid under him to prop him upright for him a moment. He swallowed obediently, and then swallowed a second potion that tasted even worse. He recognized the first as a general healing potion, but not the second. The third one poured into his mouth was profoundly familiar and foul; it took everything in him not to vomit.

“Ugh, Skele-Gro! Why do I need that?” he protested as the witch bustled away, knowing he’d only been hit by a single curse.

“The curse the Dark Lord cast at you crushed your chest, damaged your lungs, and had we been found just a few seconds later, would have stopped your heart.” His father’s voice was tight and harsh, but Harry had learned in the past couple of months that it meant he was scared, not angry. “Hagrid found us, and Poppy was already halfway to down the path when you stopped breathing. She stabilized you on the grass in front of the main entrance, before she determined it was safe to move you. I did not become aware of what was going on until Hagrid started yelling at you to breathe.”

“I’m sorry, Papa, I thought we were both shielded when I Apparated,” he answered quietly, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong.

Severus levered himself up on one elbow and levitated the cot containing his son next to his, then took the boy’s hand again. Slumping back against the stack of pillows, he was able to make contact with the confused green eyes. Knowing that his Gryffindor son would blame himself for the injuries Severus had suffered, despite the sheer stupidity of such a belief, he made an attempt to explain.

“I will be fine, Harry. The majority of my injuries were sustained in the Ministry when I tried to protect that idiot sister of Lily’s. I was not cursed during the brief amount of time before you were able to find me in the Dark Lord’s stronghold.”

Harry nodded, as his chest had started to burn when he tried to turn or speak, and he found himself taking short shallow breaths to get air into his lungs. Madam Pomfrey appeared at that moment with another vial of liquid, this one a lurid yellow; she held it out to him without blinking an eye over the rearranged beds. Screwing up his face, Harry stoically drank it down, only to find out this one did not taste bad at all; in fact, it was sweet, a bit like strawberries. He threw an accusatory glare at his father, who laughed weakly. The mediwitch glared at both of them, tucked the covers a bit tighter around Harry, and swept out to fetch the Headmaster.

Relaxing back against his own stack of pillows as the burning pain subsided, Harry turned his head and looked over at his father. “Although I am very glad we won the hearing this morning, I still don’t understand why Malfoy’s mother was there. She put in a claim, but then never said a word during the whole hearing.”

“Narcissa was there simply to monitor the proceedings and advise the Dark Lord on whether to attack,” his father told him. “Had the Dursleys been successful, they planned that you would have left the Ministry building with them, and most likely, there would have been Death Eaters waiting for you at Privet Drive.”

Harry just nodded at him. Severus needed to be sure that Harry knew that he would never have left his son alone in the care of those abusive Muggles. “You would never have left my side, Harry, no matter what the Wizengamot had ruled. I was not going to let you out of my sight.”

The smile his son favored him with was brilliant, and Severus felt relieved that the hearing, that this day was over. He had been expecting some type of attempt to take Harry away from him, but had been astounded at the audacity of the Death Eaters and the Minister of Magic, who was currently residing in a dark, dank cell in Azkaban. When he regained consciousness from the healing sleep that Poppy had forced him into, Albus had told him that the Dementor attack had consisted of six Dementors that circled the Ministry building and had been chased away by one witch. Amelia Bones, the former head of Magical Law Enforcement, had vanquished them with her lion Patronus. She was now the acting Minister.

“Papa, do you think that Voldemort is scared to use the Killing Curse against me?” Harry was looking at him with a thoughtful frown.

“Why do you ask?” The question was the last thing he had expected to hear, and Severus was taken aback.

“Well,” Harry replied cautiously, feeling the grip on his hand tighten fractionally, “he has had plenty of chances to use it on me since that night in the graveyard, especially last June, but he didn’t. He tried used it against the Headmaster when they dueled in the Atrium, but then he possessed me to try and get Dumbledore to kill me, instead of trying to use it on me. And if he had time to hit me with the curse he did today, he had time to cast the Avada Kedavra, too.”

“You may be right, young Harry,” Albus Dumbledore declared as he strode into the room. “Lord Voldemort may well be concerned that directly casting the Killing Curse will once again mean his downfall. Another curious point that I am sure he is pondering this evening is the fact that you were able to Apparate through every protection and shield he had in place today. To do so without him being aware means they must have recognized you as him.”

The Headmaster sat down heavily on a chair beside the Potions master’s bed, and looked across at Harry. “You may not realize it, my dear boy, but the wards erected around Voldemort’s lair were so powerful that they rendered the tracking spell on your ring inoperative. That was a most impressive feat indeed, my boy.”

Harry frowned, looking first at the elderly wizard, then back at his father. He wasn’t sure exactly what was impressive about knowing that the Order would not have been there to help him if something had gone wrong, but he certainly was glad that he had not chosen to wait until they arrived. He opened his mouth to question the worn, wan Headmaster, but the mediwitch swept over once again, this time to pour a potion of Dreamless Sleep Potion down his father’s throat and his own, effectively silencing any further discussion.

* * *


	21. Aftermath

* * *

Madam Pomfrey made them stay in the hospital wing that night and the next before she was convinced they would be able to take care of themselves. Although the castle was still empty, neither of them felt like having a conversation while imprisoned in the mediwitch’s domain, thus it was a happy father and son who escaped the clutches of the matron with shared relief. They made their way slowing to the dungeons, Harry still feeling the soreness in his chest anytime he tried to take a deep breath, and Severus limping slightly, his right hand still bandaged. The first night, while everyone slept, Harry had stolen over to his father’s bed and used his healing powers to help the older man. Not yet able to gauge his abilities, he only succeeded in partially healing the wounds, but it made Harry feel better. The Head of Slytherin had fixed him with a suspicious eye the next morning, which Harry had avoided meeting with his own. 

Their chambers were brightly lit, the sun streaming through the magical window as it reflected the weather outside, and a small fire burned in the fireplace. At his father’s direction, Harry settled onto the couch with a sigh, watching as Severus transfigured one of the chairs into a chaise lounge for himself. A tea tray appeared on the low table beside them, but neither had much of an appetite yet, the potions they had taken prior to their release still sat heavily in their stomachs.

“Although I am tempted to ground you until you are twenty-five for putting yourself at such risk, Harry, I am grateful that you saved my life.”

Harry opened one eye and glanced over to make sure the older man was not serious, relaxing as he saw a half-smile grace his lips. “I told you before, Father, I will not allow that bastard to take anyone else I love. Besides, you can’t ground me when it was the Headmaster who sent me.”

“Really?” Severus arched an eyebrow. “And you can honestly tell me you didn’t think of Apparating directly from the Ministry on your own?”

“Well,” the teenager was forced to admit, “I guess it _was_ smarter to have the invisibility cloak on, rather than popping into a room full of Death Eaters fully visible.”

“Indeed,” his father drawled, his own eyes closing in his pale face. “Said cloak is once more secure, just in case you are wondering.”

Harry snorted, and then rubbed his chest to ease the resultant ache. “Papa?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“I have a question about Madam Bones. You said she chased away the Dementors with her Patronus Tuesday at the Ministry and has taken over from Fudge, but you never said exactly what happened. I thought she had gone missing?”

“It seems there was a leak in the Ministry as well as the Order, and Amelia Bones sought out the assistance of the Headmaster when it became known her life was in danger. She took her family to an Order safe house just before we returned from America, allowing the Ministry and the press to think she had disappeared. Very few people were apprised of this, as there is still a spy within the Order, and Albus did not know how deep in to Voldemort’s clutches Fudge was.”

Nodding, Harry smiled sleepily. “I’m glad, she seemed like she was a fair person during my hearing last year.”

Severus watched as the boy’s eyes drifted shut, his breathing becoming deep and regular. He reached over and gently brushed a strand of raven hair out of the teenager’s eyes, thinking about all that happened at the trial and in its aftermath. It seemed that Albus Dumbledore had been correct about his son: Harry had a huge capacity to love, and he had forgiven Severus the sins he had committed over the last five years. In turn, the older wizard had come to love the young man more than he had thought possible. The new term was about to start, and Harry would be moving back to the Gryffindor dorm he had shared for five years with his year mates; he would not want to spend the same amount of time with his father as he had this summer, Severus was sure. His room would remain exactly as it was, and the Potions master was hopeful that the teenager would spend the odd weekend with him.

The older man was still waiting for his son to ask about his aunt and cousin, as the teenager had made a passing remark the previous day about seeing Vernon Dursley’s body in the hallway at the Ministry. It concerned Severus that the teenager had not said anything, since that same great ability to love had stretched to the Dursleys in some manner, he was sure. They had treated the boy abominably from the time he was left on their doorstep, but there had to be ties still there, or Harry would not have been so nervous about the hearing, he reasoned. Emotionally, there was still a longing for acceptance and even love, the Potions master believed, having discovered this summer his son’s almost desperate craving for love. Severus had to wonder if Harry was going to assume that he had caused his uncle’s death, just as he blamed himself for the deaths of Sirius Black and Cedric Diggory. 

The approaching term brought with it concerns for Harry’s safety, even though the young man had proven himself more than capable of protecting himself. Severus watched the sweet face, so young when relaxed in sleep, and felt a strong surge of protectiveness. More than anything, he wanted Voldemort to be gone, and for the two of them have the ability to lead a life free of worry and danger. A sudden image of an older Harry and of dark-haired grandchildren flitted through the Slytherin’s mind, shocking him. Rarely had he ever contemplated living to be old enough to have grandchildren, especially in the past several years, when it became apparent that the evil bastard was not completely vanquished. He closed his eyes wearily, letting his mind wander through the images of what could be happier times.

* * * * * * *

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, unseasonably warm for as far north as they were. Harry felt much better: the tightness in his chest was almost gone and his appetite had returned. Severus was still limping a bit, but he looked much better, the teenager decided. There were still lesson plans to be reviewed and potion bases to be brewed in order to be ready for the start of classes Monday morning, or so his father groused over breakfast. In Harry’s mind, they both needed a bit of a break after the rollercoaster ride they had been subjected to since that fateful day in June when he had the vision while sitting in his History of Magic O.W.L. exam. 

“Papa, if I help you this morning with your work, can we go outside this afternoon?” 

With a nod and a smile, Severus accepted his offer. “Perhaps a picnic on the Quidditch pitch could be arranged?”

“That would be brilliant!”

The morning passed swiftly, with Harry meticulously preparing potion ingredients and Severus tending to four large cauldrons simultaneously. It was almost relaxing, the teenager reflected as he took a break from his chopping. He moved to stir one of the most common potion bases slowly while his father retrieved a vial from his office. In a flash of insight, Harry could see where someone could actually enjoy doing this, brewing something new, something they had researched and were trying for the first time. A potion to make sick babies healthy or to cure the long-term affects of exposure to the Cruciatus Curse for people like Neville’s parents, or to improve the Wolfsbane Potion, he thought suddenly, would be something to be proud of. With new insight, Harry wondered how many of the common potions in use were ones that Severus had developed or enhanced.

Together, they were able to brew all the base potions, as well as several simple potions to restock the hospital wing’s stores. Harry offered to bottle the cooled potions so the older wizard could complete his lesson plans, and Severus agreed. After showing the teenager how to charm the ladle not to spill, the Potions master retreated to his office, and Harry carefully labeled and filled each vial, humming happily all the while. Settling the last crystal tube into its slot in the wooden box used to transport the medicines to Madam Pomfrey, Harry cleaned the cauldrons with a scouring charm and wiped down the surface of the wooden worktable.

Wandering into their rooms, the young Gryffindor curled up on the comfortable armchair near the magical window, looking out over the lake, which shimmered in the bright sunshine. It looked like perfect flying weather, he thought excitedly, only to remember the danger that lurked that close to the Forbidden Forest. He consoled himself with the thought that the Hogwarts Express would be arriving Sunday, and with the start of term came the start of Quidditch. Severus had already said he could play on the team, and that flying was permitted as long as someone else was with him. 

A flash of memory from the Ministry passed through his mind. He revisited the hallway outside the lifts on the floor above the Wizengamot courtroom; just as he had come around the corner from the stairs, there was a flash of green light from Narcissa Malfoy’s wand, and his uncle fell. Savagely, Harry pushed the memory back behind the barriers he had learned to erect in his mind. The Occlumency lessons Severus had insisted on continued to pay off in multiple ways, as he had learned to tuck the unwanted into dark recesses of his brain. 

A _pop_ announced Dobby’s arrival just as the door from the Head of Slytherin’s office swung open and his father appeared. 

“All is ready, Professor Snape! I is doing it just as you asked!”

“Thank you, Dobby,” he said, favoring the house-elf with a half smile. He then turned to his son. “Why don’t you fetch a jumper, Harry, and we will go outside?”

Harry nodded, grinning as Dobby threw himself at the teenager and hugged him about the knees. “Thank you for making us a picnic, Dobby.”

“You is being welcome, Harry Potter!” Dobby told him excitedly, the many colorful hats on his head swaying ominously for a moment before he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Retrieving a sweatshirt, Harry followed his father, who had removed his outer robes, out the side door of the castle, and out into the warm sunshine. The day was warm, and Harry turned his face upwards, drinking in the sun. Breaking into a run, he made his way down to the blue cloth that was spread out near the base of one of the goal posts on the near end of the Quidditch pitch, a covered mound at its center. Jogging back to where the Potions master was moving along at a more sedate walk, Harry grinned at him as he fell into step at his side. The teenager could feel the scrutiny of the dark eyes, and he smiled, meeting the gaze.

“Are you all right, Papa?” he asked, noticing that his father’s limp was becoming more pronounced.

“Yes, Harry, I am fine. It is just going to be sore for awhile.”

Harry slowed his steps a little more and looped an arm around the lean waist. The older man hesitated only a second before accepting the offered help, putting his arm around the thin shoulders as he leaned a little of his weight on his son. The pair made their leisurely way down to the pitch, where Severus gracefully sank to the blanket with a sigh. Harry took in their surroundings, and was surprised to see his Firebolt lying across a corner of the cloth. He looked over at his father, only to see a grimace of pain flitting across the pale face. Without pausing for thought, he dropped to his knees beside him. Pushing up the leg of his trousers, Harry laid his hands on a strip of flesh above the black dragon hide boots, and closing his eyes, concentrated on eliminating the pain his father felt. 

“Harry!” 

Hands grasped his shoulders and steadied him, and he once more became aware of his surroundings. Glancing with trepidation into the obsidian eyes, Harry saw a mixture of outrage and pride, and he hazarded a smile. A snort of exasperation preceded a firm shake, and then the teenager felt himself pulled into a hug.

“It would be nice if you waited to be asked, or at least sought permission, brat,” Snape derided, his tone gentle. Harry pulled back.

“You didn’t seem to want to ask me, Papa, and I don’t like to see you in pain.”

The dark eyes studied his face. “You were injured as well, idiot child, I wasn’t about to ask you to heal me!”

With a smile, Harry shrugged. “It’s not like it drains me or anything, Father,” he stated, with delicate emphasis.

A mock sneer was aimed at him, and Harry could see the corners of the man’s mouth twitch. Summoning the Firebolt, the Potions master handed his son his broom, then he took his wand out and tapped him hard on the head. The sensations of cold seeping through him and of an egg breaking on his head were familiar.

“A Disillusionment Charm?” Harry guessed.

“Yes, now go fly, you cheeky thing, and then we will eat.”

With a whoop of joy, Harry scrambled to his feet. He ran a short distance before straddling his broom and kicking off hard from the ground. The rush of wind through his hair and the feeling of euphoria that flying always gave him were his companions as he swooped and dived in the warm sunshine. The breeze had a chilly edge to it, but he ignored the ache in his chest as he dove toward the center goal, then whipped around, stretched low over the Firebolt, and sped toward the far end of the pitch. Several climbs, dives, and a Wronski Feint later, Harry could feel his chest burning with exertion. Turning away from the reviewing stands, he flew at a leisurely speed back to his father, who sat watching vigilantly from beneath the right hoop. He landed gently and collapsed onto the cloth, his chest heaving. 

“I thought you’d be up longer, Harry.” The perceptive dark eyes took in his pale face, and Severus silently handed him a light pink potion. “That should alleviate the pain and make your breathing easier.”

The young Gryffindor downed the contents of the vial without question, knowing that whatever the potion was, it would help. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was still that weak,” he panted.

Severus examined his son’s white features. “Harry, the curse that struck you is particularly vicious, it may take time to heal naturally.”

Harry just nodded, still breathing hard, but Severus was relieved to see color seep back into his cheeks. The two spent a quiet hour over their picnic lunch, talking quietly. Severus told tales of growing up with James and being at school with Lily. Harry drank in every word, and the Potions master was delighted to see the sparkle back in the emerald eyes that were so like those of his best friend, Lily Evans. He had not seen them gleam with pure delight since their day at the beach in California, and he had silently grieved for his son’s lost childhood.

“Severus, Harry.” Albus Dumbledore appeared at the edge of the cloth, looking down at them.

“Hello, Albus,” Severus greeted the elderly wizard, “sit down and have one of Dobby’s excellent lemon tarts.”

The Headmaster folded himself down onto the blue surface, the deep scarlet robes he wore fanning out around him, and proceeded to devour a lemon confection. Afterwards, he delicately cleaned his fingers on a violently purple handkerchief that he conjured, humming happily as he worked. Harry hid a smile as he watched the Head of Slytherin roll his eyes at his friend and mentor. 

“Did you come down here just to see what sweets we had, Albus, or was there a point to your interruption?”

“Actually, Severus, I had some news that I wanted to share,” he admitted, winking at Harry. “Remus Lupin has been working undercover in the werewolf community to sway them to the Light, but the rabid leader of the main pack has become increasingly hostile toward him.”

Severus looked up sharply. “Not Fenrir Greyback?”

“Yes.” The Headmaster shared a speaking glance with the Slytherin. “I have recalled Remus and am bringing him back to Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this term. He will be here in time for dinner tonight.” 

“Lupin will be needing the Wolfsbane Potion from me this week, then.”

“Yes, Severus, if you would be so kind as to prepare it.”

Harry looked between the two older wizards. “Who is this Fenrir Grey-whatever?”

The clear blue eyes of the Headmaster lost their twinkle, his face becoming very serious. “Fenrir Greyback is a vicious werewolf who believes in attacking as many magical children as he can, both because he gains a perverse satisfaction in doing so, as well as hoping to force the wizarding community to meet his demands for werewolves. It was he who so viciously attacked Remus as a small child.”

Harry felt both appalled and saddened at the idea of Remus having to face the man who almost killed him, setting him on such a dismal path in life, and to have to try to recruit someone who sounded equally as evil as Voldemort. The werewolf was one of the gentlest people Harry had ever met, and he shuddered to think of what the man must have gone through in the past month of living in a werewolf clan. The teenager had not seen the sandy-haired Marauder since his birthday, and wondered if he had been among the clan since then. 

“That must have been awful!” Harry was aghast on Remus’ behalf.

Concerned onyx eyes took in the outrage on the boy’s face, and Severus reached over to lay a hand on his arm. Severus could see the anger working through his son as it always did when someone he cared about was hurt or in danger. The pale face had two spots of high color along the cheekbones, and Harry’s breath rasped in his chest.

“Harry!” the Potions master snapped out, a sharp edge to his voice. He gripped his son’s arm and pulled the teen over beside him, only to watch as the anger grew. 

His breathing became labored, and Harry felt himself pulled up so that his back rested against his father’s chest. The soothing voice rumbled through him. 

“Calm down, my son, Lupin is fine and will be safe here at Hogwarts. You are doing yourself a disservice, upsetting yourself so.”

Harry listened to the comforting tones, his chest burning, and pulled the anger he was feeling inward, trying to control it.

“That’s it, Harry, use that energy to heal your lungs. Visualize them as pink and smooth, inflating and deflating.” 

Concentrating on the raw magic he felt flowing in him, the teenager allowed the words to wash over him, ground him and guide him. He envisioned his lungs like a pair of the smooth balloons that Dudley had always gotten when they were little, taking great pleasure in popping them in Harry’s face simply because he could. In and out, warm air filling the balloons. As the achy burning in his chest eased, he became aware of the comfort of his father, a comfort that was still new enough that he did not take it for granted. In all his years with the Dursleys, he had never seen his uncle physically comfort Dudley, because Vernon believed it might make Dudley a ‘nancy-boy’. Harry reveled in the security and feeling of well-being it gave him. 

Settling back into the warm, protective embrace, Harry tried not to think of his cousin, who had just lost his father to death and his mother to Azkaban, but the corner of his heart, long buried by abuse and neglect, cried. It was the same small portion that had always held out hope that some day he would be good enough for his relatives to love. In all the years he had called Privet Drive home, he could not think of a single kindness they had shown to him, so why did he care what happened to the Dursleys? With a concerted effort, Harry shoved the errant thoughts ruthlessly back into the dark recesses of his heart. 

“Harry, are you all right?” A large hand splayed across the center of his chest, preventing him from sitting up, as the quiet voice spoke softly.

Turning his head to look at his father over his shoulder, Harry nodded with a small smile. “Yes, I was just… thinking.”

The dark eyes scrutinized his face thoroughly. “You were thinking of Vernon Dursley.”

Harry blinked, wondering for a second if the older man was using Legilimency on him, but he knew Severus would not do that to him. With a slow nod, he acknowledged the truth of the statement. The hand on his chest tightened fractionally.

“I was actually wondering what had happened with my cousin,” he said, sadness creeping out to color his voice. “I wonder how different his life might have been if his parents hadn’t been forced to take me.”

“Harry!” 

The hard edge to the voice brought both dark heads up, and the young Gryffindor was surprised by the harsh look on Albus Dumbledore’s face.

“Your aunt took you willingly when I left you on the Dursleys’ doorstep that night so many years ago. It may have been done grudgingly, reluctantly, and possibly even with a touch of revenge in mind, but it was not unwillingly. Your mother’s blood sacrifice would not have permitted you to remain there had there not been a desire on some level by Petunia to have you there. I do not know what happened, or when that willingness mutated into the hatred and abuse you suffered through for so many years. I do know that both of them, although I suspect it was more your uncle than your aunt, made a conscious decision to sell you to Voldemort. Vernon Dursley sealed his own fate when he accepted the offer that was made to him by Lucius Malfoy, as did Petunia when she violated the bond she had sealed by taking you into her home. What happened to both of them at the Ministry was entirely their own fault, young man, and had everything to do with your uncle’s greed.”

The bright blue eyes bore into his, and Harry slowly nodded, realizing that Dursleys should have been relieved to be rid of him, instead of choosing the course of action they had. His uncle would be alive if he hadn’t made a deal with the embodiment of the devil. A bit of the ache he had felt in his heart eased along with the guilt.

“And Dudley?” he asked quietly, sitting forward slightly, as his father loosened his grasped to pat his arm.

“I had him escorted to his Aunt Marge’s home by several Aurors, and he seemed to accept the news without too much fuss.”

“Aurors?” Harry asked, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Which Aurors did you send?”

“Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Nymphadora Tonks,” the Headmaster replied, the twinkle back in his eyes. “I daresay, Harry, that your cousin was less than enamored of the portkey I sent along for them to use, and Miss Dursley seemed to have a hard time grasping the concept of magic. Alastor assures me that there was no permanent damage caused when the dog attempted to assault his wooden leg, although the purple coloring it ended up with may take awhile to wear off.”

Harry stared at the elderly wizard for several long seconds, images of Dudley, Aunt Marge, and Ripper playing through his mind, before howling with laughter. The two adults exchanged smiles over his head as the teenager fell over and rolled on the grass, holding his sides, as images continued to play in his imagination.

* * *


	22. September 1st

* * *

Father and son spent the last night of August in a room above the Leaky Cauldron. They could have stayed at Order headquarters, but Severus had bowed to the teenager’s wish not to spend the night at Grimmauld Place. The Weasleys and Hermione would be joining them after breakfast for the journey to King’s Cross Station, and they would all ride the Hogwarts Express to school. Severus knew that neither he nor his son were in any more danger now than they had been at any time since Nagini had been killed, and if there was an attack planned on the train, that they would at least be there to help protect the younger students. The Headmaster had been reluctant to allow Harry to ride on the train, but Severus had ignored the fear he felt welling in his heart and insisted that if the teenager wanted to ride with his friends, he should be allowed to do so. 

The group met up in the pub for a lively breakfast before setting out for the train station several blocks away. Members of the Order of the Phoenix were scattered along the way, with several walking behind the group under invisibility cloaks. They made it to the station and through the magical barrier without a problem, arriving a bare five minutes before the train was to depart. After quick hugs for Missus Weasley and Tonks, the trio of friends scurried on board, collapsing into seats in the second to last compartment even as a warning blast sounded from the steam engine’s whistle. 

Grinning at each other, Harry and Ron put their trunks into the racks, reseating themselves just as the train lunged forward. Ron and Hermione spilled out of their seats and in to Harry and Ginny’s laps. While they were still recovering, the compartment door was flung open and Draco Malfoy’s sneering face appeared, his wand pointed directly at Hermione. In the commotion that followed, no one realized that Harry had _Stupefied_ Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle with wandless magic, and he pulled his wand to bind them magically. A flash of a blue aura around the sleeve of the blond’s robes caught Harry’s eyes, and his mind flashed to the blue glow of a portkey before it was activated. He was distracted by the ominous rocking of the train, which was followed by the sound of screaming from outside the compartment. Flashes of spell light appeared through the windows overlooking the platform. With another lurch, the Hogwarts Express surged forward, knocking most of the teenagers off their feet.

Maintaining his balance with some difficulty, Harry fought his way out of car, over the frozen and bound figures of the junior Death Eaters. Peering out the window nearest the rapidly disappearing train platform, he could see several black-robed figures being subdued by the parents of Hogwarts students. Looking down again at the Slytherins laying in the corridor, Harry could not help but think something was not right here. Ron stumbled out behind him and started to kneel down, but Harry’s hand shot out to stop him. 

“Don’t touch them, Ron; anything on them could be a portkey!” He tried to see up the aisle, wondering where Severus was. “Keep an eye on them, mate.”

The redhead nodded, as Harry pushed his way up the crowded hallway, his apprehension building in the pit of his stomach. Most of the milling students, the second years and above with their wands out, cleared the way when they recognized the Boy-Who-Lived, and he lurched by them as the train rocketed down the tracks. He hurdled a stunned and magically bound black-robed figure without a backward glance, nodding at the seventh year Ravenclaw witch standing over him, his mind focused on finding his father. Members of the DA fell in behind the Gryffindor, and were prepared when a fully masked Death Eater swung out from between two train cars. Harry pivoted out of the way as he sent a stunner at the figure, and Ernie MacMillan cast _Petrificus Totalus_ as well. 

Halfway through the next car, near the Prefect’s compartment, Harry heard the deep rumble of the Potions master’s voice and felt his knees go weak with relief. The crowd of frightened students were calmed and ushered back into the compartments by the DA and the two Ravenclaw prefects who were present, and Harry was finally able to see the back of the familiar black teaching robes. Moving forward, the teenager laid a hand on the tall man’s back, palm down. He was not surprised when the wizard whipped around, wand pointed at Harry’s chest. A sharp intake of breath told him that his father had recognized him, and a brief look of relief flitted across the sharply featured face; the obsidian eyes bore into his, and no words were necessary between father and son.

“Sir, there were several Slytherin students who attempted to hex us in our compartment just before the train lurched.”

Severus nodded before turning back to speak to the man behind him. Harry was delighted to see Remus Lupin, who, in new chocolate brown teaching robes that brought out the sparkle in his amber eyes, was looking much better than he had the last time Harry had seen him. With a nod to the returning Defense teacher, Harry led the way back to where Malfoy and his cronies still laid frozen in the corridor, their wands clearly drawn. As their Head of House crouched down to examine them, the teenager leaned closed to his father’s ear and whispered to him about the flicker of a blue aura he had seen as the trio had entered the compartment. Looking up, Severus exchanged a long glance with the werewolf standing beside him, and Harry could not help the unsettled feeling that ran through him.

After a glare and a barked order from the Potions master, the students scurried back into their compartments and closed the doors behind them, trying not to appear as if they were watching. His father stood, allowing Ron, Hermione, and Ginny back into the compartment they were sharing, before levitating the Slytherin students to their feet. He bound them with magical ropes before casting several spells on the three. Maneuvering them into the very last compartment, the older wizard silently summoned the three wands from the students, who were now awake and eyeing him with various degrees of panic in their eyes. Unable to move or speak, it would be a very long ride to Hogwarts for them.

“If you came on behalf of Voldemort, you will find your actions will be judged very harshly by authorities other than me or the Headmaster. If you were simply employing your usual lack of tact and decorum by exchanging insults with my son and his friends, you will find your House in negative points and many hours of detention with Mister Filch. I suggest you think hard about your motivation during our journey, as I will not tolerate any overt support of that lunatic half-blood in my House.”

His snarl was ruthless and unsympathetic, and Severus watched with a sneer as growing patches of darkness told him both Crabbe and Goyle had wet themselves. Pivoting on his heel, the ex-Death Eater strode out of the compartment and sealed the door with a spell. Harry was still waiting for him in the corridor, his face screwed up in a grimace of pain, and Severus walked over to stand in front of the teenager. Although not one for public displays, he did feel relieved when his son leaned into his chest, and Severus could not stop the hand that came up of its own accord to pat the still too thin back. 

A sharp gasp was the only warning he had before Harry’s legs buckled and gave way. The Potions master grabbed the teenager under the arms, cradling him against his chest.

“Harry!”

Hermione Granger was at his side instantly, helping him swing his son’s limp form into his arms. Getting the boy in to their compartment, he maneuvered Harry onto the empty seat across from a wide-eyed Ginny Weasley. As Severus attempted to lay him down, Harry stiffened and convulsed, nearly throwing himself out of his father’s arms. Dropping into the seat and turning the teenager sideways, Severus draped him over his lap, securing his arms to keep them from flailing. 

“Weasley!” he barked at Ron, who stood hovering in the doorway. “Go find Professor Lupin and tell him I need to see him, but do not say anything else - you could be overheard!”

The redhead nodded, his face pale as his blue eyes watched his friend, and Severus was reminded that this group of friends had stood by the young Gryffindor since his first days at Hogwarts, although young Ronald had problems with a jealous streak, from what the Potions master had observed. Taking a deep breath, he turned toward Ginny, whom he knew to be at the top of her year in Defense. 

“Miss Weasley, you are our guard. Do not allow anyone near either of these two compartments except your brother and Professor Lupin.”

The girl drew her wand from her sleeve as she stood. Taking one last worried look at Harry, who was still writhing in obvious pain in his father’s arms, Ginny moved out into the corridor. The young woman standing quietly at his side had laid her hand protectively against the side of Harry’s face, where he had struck it several times on the edge of his seat as he thrashed. 

“If you would reach into the right breast pocket of my robes, Hermione, and remove the small vial for me?” Severus asked her quietly, knowing that tremors wracking the thin body were indicative of his exposure to the Cruciatus.

Without questioning him, the witch quickly and efficiently located the vial of light lavender pain reliever without the drama either of the Weasleys would have gone through in retrieving it. At his nod, Hermione thumbed the cork out of the top of the vial. Holding his son’s jaw open with one hand, she handily poured the potion down his throat, while Severus brace the dark head on his shoulder. Together, they managed to get most of it inside him, the young lady speaking softly to Harry in a crooning voice until his movements began to taper off. Readjusting the boy in his arms, Severus had just taken a firmer grasp when his son went limp. Pulling the slight form to his chest, the ex-Death Eater rocked back and forth unconsciously, one hand reaching up to feel the blessedly cool cheek. 

Remus Lupin hurried into the compartment, stopping just inside the door as he took in the image of Severus Snape holding Harry cradled against his chest. The dark eyes met amber, and fear was quite visible in the werewolf’s mobile features, but Severus had no desire to torment one of his childhood nemeses. He gave in to the urge to slide his fingers into the wild raven hair; cupping the teenager’s head, he adjusted it to look at the enflamed lightning bolt-shaped scar. Hermione, still standing at his side, reached over to brush the damp fringe back from her friend’s forehead.

“It is his scar, the link with Voldemort, causing him pain. I believe the Dark Lord maybe upset with the preliminary reports he has received concerning the attack,” Severus explained.

Lupin stepped fully into the compartment, taking in the pale, sweat-drenched face of the teenager. “Harry has mentioned them before, but is it always this bad? Ron said Harry had gone into a seizure.” 

“He seems to feel the curses that Voldemort casts,” Hermione interjected, “and those seizures looked like the effects of the Cruciatus Curse.”

With a groan, Harry tried to pull away from his father, and Severus immediately transfigured the empty potions vial into a basin. Guiding the raven head toward it, he had it ready when the teen retched. Hermione leaned forward with her wand to banish the vomit, and Severus steadied his son while Remus looked on anxiously.

The brightness of the noontime sun flooding in the windows of the compartment blinded Harry when he tried to open his eyes, adding to the painful throbbing in his head. Turning his head, he buried his face in slightly stiff fabric. Strong arms held him tightly, and we was just beginning to struggle when the familiar scent of sandalwood and cinnamon told him that he was safe; this knowledge allowed Harry to relax in his father’s grasp. He let out a gasp as his head throbbed painfully, and in the next instant, a vial was pressed to his lips. The familiar taste of the special potion his father had brewed for him slid down his throat, and almost instantly the worst of the pain seemed disappear, the trembling in his extremities lessened.

“Papa?” he managed to croak, his throat raw. “Don’t let anyone touch Malfoy!”

“It is alright, son, they are all locked into the next compartment, and the two youngest Weasleys are guarding them.” 

The Potions master took a goblet of water that Hermione pressed into his hand and helped Harry sit up enough to take a slow swallow. Still draped across his father’s lap, the young Gryffindor sat up, and laid his head on Severus’ shoulder.

“Voldemort is furious, because the did not order any kind of attack at King’s Cross,” he told them, one hand reaching up to rub the still prickling scar. “Malfoy has been coached all summer by his mother and Bellatrix Lestrange,” Harry spat the witch’s name, “on the mission that Voldemort has assigned him, namely to harass all of us at Hogwarts. He was apparently also told to be a prat to Hermione and Ron on the train today, as you were not expected to allow me to ride the train this year, Papa.”

The Potions master snorted at this, and Harry gave him a small smile. Only the two of them knew the hours of arguing that had transpired about safety concerns before the former Death Eater had given in to his son’s wishes to ride the Hogwarts Express.

“What Malfoy didn’t know was that Goyle’s father, who brought them and Crabbe to the train station, activated a portkey spell that had been put on the front of Draco Malfoy’s robes. Voldemort was hoping that the prat would provoke Ron enough that he would grab Malfoy by the front of his robes.”

Hermione gasped, a horrified look on her face. “But that could have killed Malfoy when the portkey activated!”

Severus nodded, his arm tightening around his son as he considered the effect of the Slytherin’s robes wrapping around the blond’s neck, twisting as the robes were ripped off him the moment the portkey was activated. It was unlikely that the teenager would have been in physical contact with that section of his outer robes, and therefore not swept along with the unlucky person who had touched him. There was known to be both a vacuum effect as well as a documented case of the backwash of magic from a portkey badly burning a young witch. Obviously, the Dark Lord had no fondness for Draco Malfoy beyond what the teenager could do for him. A fine tremble still ran through his son’s form as the Gryffindor continued to talk.

“Apparently there was a seventh year Ravenclaw on the platform, being escorted by her father and uncles when we arrived. She also spent most of the summer in the Death Eater ranks, and when she saw us, her father decided to try and capture one or both of us to further their standings in the ranks.”

Harry rubbed the heel of his hand against his scar, trying to soothe the ache he still felt. “I guess those Death Eaters weren’t very high up in the ranks, as they didn’t know about Malfoy, and Goyle’s father refused to help them. He went back and reported to Voldemort what was going on, and the snake-faced… git was so angry he started to curse Goyle. He summoned the Death Eaters and only the uncle Apparated to him, as he was the only one who got away, and then the portkey Malfoy had did not activate, and Voldemort was furious! That was when he started casting the Cruciatus… ” Harry’s voice trailed off as he shuddered, and he turned his head to meet his father’s eye. “I think he killed him, Papa, he held the man under the curse for so long! Ranting and raving about the man spoiling all his careful plans, and something about how Nagini had been part of his soul and I killed her.”

Sighing, Harry sat up with the older man’s help and slid off his lap, leaning heavily into his side. “He has some kind of plan, Papa, something that has to do with Hogwarts, but I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s all right, Harry,” his father reassured him as Hermione slid into the seat on Harry’s other side. “I would like you to try and rest for a while, as I need to send a message ahead to the Headmaster, as he is more likely to know what these cryptic statements might mean.” A long finger brought his chin up to meet the onyx eyes, and Harry read the concern there, visible to anyone who truly knew his father. 

“I will be fine here, Papa. Hermione and Remus will make sure that I rest until you get back.” 

“They will attempt to protect you from yourself, brat.” His father gave him a small smile before stepping out into the corridor with Remus Lupin following him. Ron and Ginny were sent in, and the friends sat quietly as Harry told them about the latest vision. The plump witch with the food trolley came by, and although Harry ordered a number of treats off of it, he wasn’t able to eat any of them. At Hermione’s rather pointed insistence, Harry laid down across the seat, his head cradled in her lap, and slept until just before the train pulled into Hogsmeade. 

His father materialized at his side as Harry blinked sleepily. The pounding in his head was miraculously gone, and there was only a faint ache in his scar as a reminder of one of the worst visions he could remember. The silent Potions master led him and his friends away from the wave of students pushing their way toward the thestral-drawn carriages toward a large carriage off to the side. A wave of sadness broke over Harry as he remembered why he could see the animals, but none of his friends could. A hand settled on his shoulder as his steps faltered, and he gave his father a small smile before stepping into the carriage in front of him.

They rocked and lurched up to the front of the castle ahead of the other students. When they alit from the carriage, Harry followed his father into the Entrance Hall, knowing his friends would save him a seat. The others had changed into their robes while Harry slept on the train, his own school uniform in a small bag the Head of Slytherin carried. A hand on his shoulder guided him into a small side chamber off the Great Hall, a room the teen remembered well from his fourth year. An anxious Poppy Pomfrey and a solemn Albus Dumbledore waited for them. Squashing the resentment that flared in him, Harry sighed as the mediwitch bustled him to a couch in the corner, and his father was led to the opposite corner by the Headmaster. He knew the older wizard was concerned about him because the vision had been harsh and protracted.

Declaring him fit, the witch conjured a curtain for Harry to change behind, and only Severus was waiting for him when he emerged. He could feel the dark eyes run over his pale face as Harry moved to join the Potions master near the door to the rear of the Head table in the Great Hall.

“Do I look okay?” he asked as he came to a halt in front of the older man, glad to see he only had to tilt his head up a little to meet the dark scrutiny.

A hand came up to brush a strand of long fine hair back from his face, and Harry was pleased when he did not flinch, instead leaning into the touch. The past two months had brought a multitude of changes to his world, and despite the growing threat Voldemort represented, Harry was the happiest he could ever remember being. His discovery of a living parent had filled a deep void inside him, and started him on the path to healing the trauma of an abusive childhood. That his father had gone from being the hateful Potions master to a man grieving for his lost memories and mourning for the first time the loss of his beloved cousin. Most importantly, Severus Snape had embraced the teenaged son he now remembered as an infant. Accepting Harry fully, with all his physical and emotional scars, insecurities, and a bloody Prophecy hanging over his head, the once loathed man had become a steady, loving presence in his life.

Leaning forward to receive the hug he needed, Harry sighed. He knew he was different from most of his friends, who had started pulling away from their parents. More than anything, he needed the reassurance of a touch, a hug, or his father’s hand on his shoulder, and Harry knew it was a residual affect of having been treated like a filthy little freak as a child, locked away in a cupboard. Knowing that his and his father’s childhoods shared similarities, Harry looped his arms around the Slytherin and hugged him back. Ducking his head, he buried his face in the black-clad shoulder. Harry hid a smile, knowing that things would be different this year with the greasy git of a Potions master. He was looking forward to it, and pushed to the back of his mind the negative reactions he also knew he would be facing.

Severus pushed him to arms’ length. “You are sure that you are feeling all right?”

Harry smiled, enjoying the hands that straightened his tie and adjusted his robes. “Yes, Papa, I’m fine.” 

With a nod of the dark head, Harry watched with amusement as his father brushed a hand down the front of his teaching robes, every wrinkle smoothing instantly. Moving to the door, the teenager hurried to pull it open, allowing Professor Snape to stride out into the Great Hall, his charmed robes billowing behind him. Harry followed at a more sedate pace, his face assuming the neutral mask he had worked to develop over the summer, which emphasized the subtle changes in his appearance. His hair was longer and more manageable, his face thinner and more angular, and, to Harry’s delight, he had shot up in height, making him as tall as Ron.

The sorting ceremony was almost over. Harry made his way down the side of the large room to the Gryffindor table, and slipped into the seat between Hermione and Ginny, nodding his hellos to those around them. He ignored several startled gasps from the table’s occupants as the last of the first years was sorted into Ravenclaw.

“That you, Harry?” Dean Thomas asked from the other side of Ginny, his arm looped possessively around her.

Suddenly self-conscious, Harry tucked his hair behind his ear, but met the chocolate brown eyes straight on. “Hi, Dean, have a good summer?”

“Not too bad, mate. Nowhere near as exciting as yours, I hear!”

Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat at the Head Table, his arms spread wide in welcome. “To our new students: Welcome! To our returning students: Welcome back! Now everyone, tuck in!”

The table filled with all manner of delicious foods, and for a long time, all that was heard was the sound of cutlery on the golden plates as everyone ate. Harry leaned toward Hermione as he pushed his empty plate away,

“Did the Sorting Hat have anything interesting to say?”

Hermione shook her head as she buttered another dinner roll. “Same theme as last year, really, primarily that the Houses must unite to ensure that Hogwarts and the Light can defeat the darkness coming, and that we need to follow the one who is chosen.”

Harry almost cringed at the suggestion that the Hat was singing about him. There had been references in the _Daily Prophet_ for days after the fiasco in the Department of Mysteries at the end of the last term. Several of the articles had attempted to guess the Prophecy, coming close when the writer deemed Harry to be the ‘Chosen One’. The plates and food disappeared suddenly, replaced by a multitude of different puddings, but Harry found that his stomach rebelled at the thought of any kind of sweet.

Glancing up toward the Head Table, he met the obsidian gaze of his father. He felt it sweep over his face, and could read the concern behind the mask. Someone must have told his father about the Hat, and he shared Harry’s anxiety. It was enough to have the Prophecy hanging over his head; to have the entire magical community aware of it, adding to that pressure, might be more than he could bear. A snort to his left diverted his attention, and he turned to find Ginny smirking at him.

“Since when does anyone listen to that relic anyway? Next thing you know, they will be asking us to believe every word the _Prophet_ writes, too! Now, what do you think of Bulgaria finally winning the World Cup?”

Harry flashed her a grateful smile as the conversation was deflected into a discussion on the recent Quidditch World Cup game. Although he allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation, he didn’t miss the looks that Ron and Hermione were exchanging across the table. He knew they were both still concerned about him after the incident on the train, and in turn, Harry was very worried about his friends. There was no doubt in his mind that they were now as much targets as he and his father were, and the thought of what Voldemort would do if he caught one of them made his stomach clench.

“Greetings and welcome again to another year at Hogwarts!”

The tables cleared as the sound of Albus Dumbledore’s voice reverberated through the Great Hall. Turning in his seat, Harry glanced toward his father, who sat scowling at something his Slytherins were doing at their table. He focused his attention on the Headmaster.

“…with Lord Voldemort and his followers becoming increasingly active, the security of Hogwarts and her students has become of the utmost concern to us. The new Minster of Magic has assigned a squad of Aurors to help protect the school, but each of us must be aware of our surroundings. Please report any strange behavior to a teacher or staff member at once. I implore you all to act responsibly, and to not put yourselves in any position which would compromise your safety.”

The clear blue eyes swept the room; all the students, who by now were well aware of the attack on the Hogwarts Express were silent, and sat listening attentively.

“I must remind you that even more so now than in the past, the Forbidden Forest is expressly off limits to anyone who does not want to die a very painful death. On a lighter note, an expanded list of items banned from the hallways has been posted on Mister Filch’s door, and Quidditch tryout dates will be posted on the board in your common rooms.”

The all-seeing eyes swept the room again, lingering for a moment on the Slytherin table. The older year students shifted restlessly under his gaze, before it moved on to meet Harry’s. The venerable wizard gave him a nod before glancing back over the room.

“Now, it grows late. I know we all are anxious to get a good night’s sleep so we are at our best for the start of classes in the morning, so I will wish you goodnight!”

A collective groan sounded throughout the Hall, and then the noise level rose as everyone was getting up and moving. Harry listened as the new Prefects calls for ‘first years’ reverberated in the rapidly emptying room. Letting the pushing crowd of students get past him before he stood up, Harry threw a last look at the Head Table. He was not surprised to find his father’s dark eyes following his movements as the Potions master stood next to the Headmaster, arms folded across his chest. The black robes he wore contrasted with the gold-trimmed scarlet robes Dumbledore wore, and Harry thought the Headmaster looked a bit like Fawkes in them. Nodding to the older men, the teenager made his way across the Entrance Hall toward the marble steps. 

Trudging up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Harry left a wave of sadness. He had not been quite ready to leave the comfort of his father’s quarters, or the first bedroom he had ever been told was his alone. He had come to be secure in the love he felt there, even to depend on it, but he knew it was expected of him to move back into the dorms. Sighing, he walked up to the portrait hole and muttered the password: _Fide Mea_. _My word of honor, an appropriate password_ , he thought as he stepped through.

“Harry!” Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him into the common room. “I was just going to come looking for you!”

“I was waiting for the crowd to thin out a bit,” he told her with a smile, rubbing his scar absently with the ball of his hand. 

“You must be tired, Harry,” she said with an apologetic look, “I will see you in the morning.”

Relieved, the teenager muttered his goodnights and up the stairs to the sixth year boys’ dorm. Ron and Neville were already there and in various stages of disrobing. Harry’s belongings had been moved up to the dorms by the house-elves that morning, and he quickly undressed and leaned down to grab a pair of new pajamas from his trunk. Ron’s head emerged from inside his pajama top, hair standing straight up in every direction.

“Oy, Harry!”

Smiling over at the redhead, Harry grabbed his sleeping pants and stepped into them. Seamus came out of the bathroom with Dean at his heels. Throwing his towel on his bed, the pajama-clad Irish teenager made his way over to Harry.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” he sneered, poking a finger into Harry’s chest.

Stumbling back a step, Harry steadied himself as he watched Seamus step closer. “I thought you’d be down in the dungeons with the snakes, Potter!” His sneer deepened, and he poked Harry again. “Oh, I’m sorry; it’s Snape, isn’t it? Bloody hell, Snape, I can’t believe you really acknowledged the greasy git!”

Taken by surprise by the attack, Harry stiffened, trying to contain the surge of anger well in him. He heard Ron snicker at the words Seamus was spewing, and his heart sank. He knew how his best friend felt about his father, but he had hoped Ron would come around.

“Yeah, exactly how did that happen, Harry?” Dean Thomas joined his friend at the side of Harry’s bed. “Did the bloody bastard rape your mum?”

“Or was your mum shagging Snape on the side?” Seamus pushed again, using his hand to push Harry hard. “Blimey, who’d sink low enough to willingly do it with that prat?”

“Hey, that’s about enough!” Neville said, turning towards them.

“Yeah, back off the both of you!” Ron stepped to Harry’s side.

Harry vaguely heard his two friends stand up for him, but it was a second too late: he felt his grip on his magic slip, and the castle trembled. Dean and Seamus weren’t smart enough to recognize the danger, and continued their verbal battering.

Five floors below, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were walking toward the Headmaster’s office, having just finished dealing with Draco Malfoy and his thugs. The older wizard stopped suddenly and glanced at Severus.

“Did you feel that?” 

The Slytherin closed his eyes tightly. “I thought I was imagining it, but the whole castle is shaking, Albus, and I can feel Harry’s magical signature!”

Running toward the stairs, the dark-haired wizard tried not the panic, but the feeling of the fine movement in the step underneath his foot did nothing to reassure him. Bursting into Gryffindor Tower, he pushed through the small knot of students in the common room and took the steps to the dormitory two at a time, Dumbledore right behind him.

“- she do that to your father, Snape? James Potter hated Snape! And you’re his bastard?”

It took only a moment to assess the situation. Weasley was moving to step between Harry and Finnegan, and Longbottom had his wand out, trained on Thomas. With a flick of his own wand, he petrified the Irish boy. Thomas stepped back with a look of absolute terror on his face. Motioning Weasley aside, Severus slid his wand back into his pocket and slowly reached a hand out to cup his son’s deathly pale cheek.

“Harry, its Papa. I need you to rein in your magic, son, the whole castle is shaking.”

The familiar touch got through to him before the voice did, and with a shuddering breath, Harry leaned into the hand, concentrating on controlling the energy he could feel swirling around him. Strong arms enfolded him, pressing him into the familiar stiff cloth of his father’s teaching robes, and he knew he was safe. The attack had come so fast and so unexpectedly, from people who were supposed to be his friends; it had caught him totally off guard. He took another deep breath, willing his father not to let go.

Severus watched as Finnegan was released from the spell he had cast and scurried to stand beside Dean Thomas.

“If you had questions, I am sure that Harry would have been happy to answer them,” he bit out, his towering rage barely contained. “Personally, I do not care in the slightest about your opinion, but to attack the one person who was completely innocent in the whole situation, especially in such a vicious manner, is uncalled for. Harry is as much James Potter’s son as he is mine, and Lily Potter was never unfaithful to her husband! You would make Voldemort proud with your sadistic minds, and you disgust me!”

Severus was snarling as he finished, and both Gryffindors were cowering. Surprisingly, it was Neville Longbottom who stepped forward, draping Harry’s robe around his bare shoulders. Ron Weasley looked ashamed as he handed the Potions master his son’s wand, making the Slytherin wonder what part the redhead had played in the incident. Harry pulled slightly away from him but kept within the circle of his arms, looking around at his dorm mates, accepting the pajama top Ron handed him.

“Thanks Ron. Thanks Neville. Papa?” Harry looked up at his father.

The Slytherin nodded, and exchanged a glance with the Headmaster and Minerva McGonagall, who had appeared beside him, tacitly agreeing to leave them to deal with the two teenagers. Turning, he escorted his son down through the common room with a hand on his shoulder, both of their heads held high. The crowd parted for them, and no one could miss the protective hand on Harry’s shoulder or the way the teenager leaned against the much-feared Potions master. Hermione joined them and held open the portrait door.

“Are you all right, Harry?” she asked anxiously, still awed by the raw magical power she knew he had unleashed.

“He will be, Miss Granger, as I plan to give him permission to hex the next person who insults his parentage,” the Slytherin told her, and Harry snorted as they exited the Tower.

* * *


	23. Start of Term

* * *

Severus sat on the couch in his quarters, gently rocking the silent teenager who had immediately crawled into his lap. He wondered for the hundredth time whether he should contact St Mungo’s to inquire about a counselor to help Harry deal with all the deaths and abuse he had been subjected to in his brief life. Albus Dumbledore had insisted Severus speak to a witch after James and Lily had been targeted by Death Eaters, believing that his deep anguish and guilt were caused by his passing on the first part of the Prophecy to Voldemort. Harry had not needed an attack from the very people he thought he could trust on top of everything else he had endured, and Severus worked to restrain the ex-Death eater inside him.

Harry stirred, sucking in a shuddering breath; the unique scent he associated with his father permeated the air, filling his lungs and calming him. As the awful numbness began to recede, he was embarrassed to find himself seated in his father’s lap, clinging to his robes like a three year old, but as he made to move, gentle hands restrained him.

“I never had the chance to comfort you as a small child, Harry, allow me to do so for just a bit longer.” The deep voice rumbled through the chest his head rested on, and the teenager smiled weakly.

“I’m too big, Papa, your legs will go numb,” he protested. Despite his words, Harry made no effort move.

The silence that stretched between them was not uncomfortable. The hand on his back rubbed small, comforting circles as Harry replayed the scene in the Gryffindor dorm in his mind. He was not upset with Ron - he knew first hand how is best friend felt about the Potions master - but he was a bit disappointed that the redhead could not seem to separate the teacher from the man who was Harry’s father. Neville’s support had been unexpected, especially in light of his very real fear of Professor Snape, and Harry’s respect for his friend had soared. 

“It wasn’t,” he said softly, “that I did not expect that reaction out of Seamus and Dean, as you are rather a snarky git when you teach. It was when Seamus started saying those vile, filthy things about you, mum and dad that I lost it. I know I should not let it get to me, and I probably would not have if it hadn’t been my own dorm mates.”

The gentle rocking never stopped, comforting him and protecting him against the pain he felt. “I know I will have to face more of that rubbish when classes start, and I guess I’m pretty pathetic, really, but I had hoped they would understand. I just want to be Harry, who finally found his dad, and was loved for just being a son…”

When Harry’s voice broke, the arms around him tightened, and a kiss was pressed into his hair. Despite the turmoil inside him, Harry was secure in the knowledge that this man loved him, and was not going to reject him, as he had once believed.

“Here with me, Harry, you are just that, the beloved son of a proud parent. You have freed me from the bonds that tied me to a madman, and I am able to be more myself when I start teaching this year. Not that I still won’t be that snarky git you mentioned,” Harry heard the sneer in his father’s voice, “but at least I do not have to be unfair to a certain student because it is expected of me.”

After another kiss to the crown of his head, Harry felt his father shift him off his lap and tuck him into his side on the couch. A finger tilted his chin up and Harry met the onyx eyes, easily reading the concern in their depths.

“This will not be an easy time for us, son, but I expect the verbal filth will die away more quickly if you expect it and don’t react to it. I will endeavor to do the same, although I suspect I will hear much less of it than you.” The fine lines around those eyes crinkled as his father gave him a small smile. “And you have my permission to hex anyone who steps over the line in reference to your mother; however, I will expect an imaginative curse as opposed to a mere stunning or stinging hex.”

Harry blinked before giving him an answering smile, his mind already skimming through all the spells he knew.

hpsshpsshpss

The first week of classes passed quickly for Harry as his real friends rallied around him and stuck with him as he moved from one class to the next. Draco Malfoy and his goons Crabbe and Goyle had been questioned under Veritaserum; apparently they had been truthful when they said they did not know what Voldemort had planned. They were given a month’s detention with Argus Filch for their actions, and told any other ‘activities’ would result in their instant expulsion and being turned over to the Ministry of Magic. With the sixth year dorm already at odds, Harry had been unwilling to risk a repeat confrontation, so he continued to sleep in his room in the dungeons. He spent time in the library with Hermione and Ron, and sat with them at the Gryffindor table during meals. With his father’s approval, he had even started to bring Hermione down to study in their sitting room.

The night before his first NEWT Potions class, Harry was surprised when his father brought out a dirty, dog-eared copy of the Advanced Potions textbook he was reviewing. He glanced up curiously as it was set down beside him, and if he did not know better, he would have said the Potions master was nervous.

“This text book was passed down to me from my mother, and I would like you to have it,” the older man told him, standing beside the couch.

Paging through the schoolbook slowly, Harry was amazed by the amount of writing in the margins of the pages. Notations made in scrawling black ink were crammed into every available space, some crossed out or corrected, with what looked like hints on how to brew the potion displayed on the page. Other notes seemed to be spells and hexes, with notes on their effectiveness and who to best use them against. He looked up at his father questioningly.

“I would not recommend casting any spells that you don’t recognize, as there are some that I made up during those years when my main influence was an older student named Lucius Malfoy.” A pink tinge stained the cheeks that still bore a faint tan from their time in California, and Harry tried not to laugh as the man refused to meet his eyes. “Many of the notes concerning the potions recipes are my mother’s, and are quite insightful.”

“Wouldn’t it be, well, cheating to use them?” Harry asked, meeting the dark eyes that finally lifted to meet his.

“They are mostly descriptions of different techniques on how to prepare ingredients or hints on what we found would make the potion just a bit better, Harry. You may brew the potion according to the original instructions, or use those notes you find helpful.”

“What was her name?”

“Eileen Prince.”

“Was she nice to you?” Harry asked, half scared to hear the answer as the images he remembered from their Occlumency lessons the past year flashed through his mind.

“Yes, when she was able to be. My father was a right bastard most of the time, and he was afraid of her magical abilities,” his father said quietly, and Harry reached out a hand to comfort him. “She died during my sixth year, and I still believe Tobias Snape was responsible, directly or indirectly.” 

Harry nodded his head, his thoughts darting back to Uncle Vernon and his fanatical hatred of anything remotely connected to magic. His father moved toward the small kitchen area to fix two cups of hot chocolate before settling down on the couch beside him. Startled as the older wizard plucked the text out of his hand, the teenager relaxed as his father began to tell him about some of the spells he had made up and how his cousin James had been his favorite target to test them. James, in turn, learned enough to steal Severus’ ideas and use them against their creator. With a contented smile, Harry leaned back and listened to the soothing voice reminisce.

hpsshpsshpss

The first double Potions class the next morning was a combined class of sixth years, with just a dozen students having decided to continue in the advanced class. Ron, Hermione, and Harry shared a table with the lone Hufflepuff in attendance, Ernie Macmillan, while the four Slytherins took the front table and the four Ravenclaws took the next. Malfoy and Nott eyed him speculatively from the front table, and Harry knew they were up to something. Zabini had also glanced his way, but with a bored expression. The Ravenclaws had their noses already buried in the Potions book, and ignored him completely.

The door to the dungeon classroom snapped open and slammed shut as the feared Potions master strode in, his black robes billowing behind as his eyes swept the room with a cold glare. His eyes skimmed over Harry but lingered on the table of Slytherin students, Harry saw, watching as Draco Malfoy glared back at him.

“You are in this class by your choice, signifying that for whatever reason, you have a desire to sit NEWT level potions. I will not tolerate anyone who does not fully participate, follow directives, or complete assignments.” The obsidian eyes took the time to make eye contact with each student in the room, making all but one squirm in the total silence; Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep his expression serious when they fell on him. “You are clearly not children anymore, and should not have to be restrained, refereed, or cajoled into acting as young adults. The potions you learn this year and next will all be those deemed NEWT level, and they will for the most part be ones that have some redeeming value, as students at this level provide the stock for the hospital wing.”

Those intense eyes swept the room again before the Potions master drew his wand and flicked it at the blackboard, where the description of the potion and its ingredient list appeared. “Open your text and turn to page ten. We will begin as we plan to continue, and start with brewing the Draught of Living Death. Begin now, and be aware that this potion can be highly explosive at certain phases of the brewing.”

Hermione and Ernie moved to the student supply cupboard while Harry lit the flames under all their cauldrons, and Ron made sure the workspace was clear and clean. Opening his inherited text to the right page, Harry glanced at the recipe before carefully preparing the ingredients he needed for the first section. Setting those to one side, he added the liquid base and then glanced around before covertly casting a shield barrier around his cauldron. Once Harry had all the prepared items in the cauldron, he concentrated on counting his strokes as he stirred the bubbling liquid. A bluish steam rose from Hermione’s perfect potion mid-way through the brewing, and Harry was pleased to see his was the same smooth black-currant color as hers was, Ron’s, on the other hand, resembled liquid licorice. 

Trailing his finger down the page, Harry saw that he needed to cut up a sopophorous bean for juice next. He eyed one of the small items dubiously, then attempted to cut it, but it did not yield much liquid. Bending down over his book, he tried to decipher the scrawling writing that was even worse than his own. 

__

Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting

He looked over at the silver knife that Hermione had sitting by her ingredients. “Can I borrow your knife?”

The bushy-haired witch did not answer, as her attention was directed fully on her counter-clockwise, but she nodded at him. Her potion was still deep violet when the book said it should be a light lilac, and she was frowning at it as if it was the liquid’s fault. When he crushed the sopophorous bean, Harry was astounded by the amount of juice that came out; he scooped it all up and dumped it into his potion, watching as it immediately turned the exact shade of lilac described in the instructions. It seemed that his grandmother was right on the spot with her tip. 

According to the text, he needed to stir the potion counterclockwise until it cleared, but another scrawled line of instruction said to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir. Harry did this and was not surprised when the potion turned the palest translucent pink. Hermione looked over at him with astonishment; her potion was still a dark shade of lilac.

“What did you do, Harry?” she hissed angrily, as if Harry had made his potion properly just to annoy her.

He looked at her in amazement. Harry had known his friend was fanatical about her grades, but did not think she would react quite this way. Ron was mumbling under his breath, and Harry glanced over to see his potion was still a pleasant shade of violet. As he continued to stir gently, Harry looked around, and was surprised to see that the other cauldrons within his visual range were all various shades of lilac or violet. His was the only one that appeared close to the book’s description. 

 

Severus walked around the room slowly as he watched the brewing progress, trying to contact the pride he felt as he saw that Harry’s potion was the only one that had been done correctly. In his opinion, the text itself was flawed, but it was the book the Governors of the school had wanted for the past fifty years, despite the Potions master’s heated arguments for a newer, more modern textbook. As he swept toward the front of the room, Severus saw Theodore Nott’s hand twitch in his son’s direction; the small, reddish, berry-like object that soared toward Harry’s potion could only be pomegranate, the one potion ingredient that would instantly react with the wormwood and sopophorous bean juice and trigger an explosion. His wand was in his hand in an instant, but the still new father instincts had him hesitating. His eyes tracked the berry as it arched over the desk and fell.

His son whirled back toward his cauldron almost as if he could feel the danger approaching and stood watching with a very Snape-like sneer on his face. Just as Severus took a step forward, he saw the pomegranate seed bounce off the shield Harry had erected at the start of class. With an overwhelming feeling of relief, the Potions master banished the seed and was at Nott’s side in three steps. Gripping the front of the Slytherin student’s robes, he lifted the tall, thin teenager off the ground with one hand and shook him soundly.

“Mister Nott,” the voice had dropped an octave and reverberated in the dungeon classroom, “you are an idiot! Ten points from Slytherin for putting this class in danger, and detention with Mister Filch for the next week!”

Tossing the boy away from him, Severus banished his potion, the lightest lilac of the class, aside from Harry’s. “Get your things together and get out of my sight! You will take a zero for today’s lesson and write three feet on why your potion was wrong!” He whirled to face Harry.

“Mister Potter-Snape, did you erect a shield around your cauldron at the start of this lesson?”

Malfoy, Zabini, and Millicent Bulstrode snickered as the rest of the class seemed to hold their breath. Harry held his head high and met his father’s eyes with a bit of a smirk on his face.

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor for your forethought,” Severus whirled away before he was tempted to actually smile at the child, not missing the bewildered expressions on every other face in the room. “Bottle your potions and bring them to my desk when your workstation is clean.”

hpsshpsshpss

Hermione was furious with Harry when he tracked her to down in the Gryffindor common room that afternoon. He tried to explain what he had done to his potion, but she refused to listen, marching away towards the girl’s dorm, her nose in the air. Harry and Ron stood watching her depart in disbelief. Ron reasoned that it was the witch’s drive to be the best in the school, which Harry had just infringed on, that had upset her, but he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t until Transfiguration on Friday afternoon that Harry managed to slide into the seat beside Hermione’s just before Ron claimed it. 

Remus Lupin had started Defense Against the Dark Arts the same way that Professor Flitwick had begun their sixth year Charms lesson, with a lecture on the use of non-verbal magic. Everything from defensive shields to silent summoning charms seemed to be the theme for the sixth year studies. Reflecting back over the training that he had done under his father’s tutelage over the summer, Harry knew he was capable of both wandless and non-verbal magic, but his abilities seemed to fail him when he tried to do it in a classroom. 

Professor McGonagall added her voice to the non-verbal studies in Transfiguration, explaining what her expectations for the term and the NEWT preparation they all needed to do. She took points from Harry when she caught him trying to show Hermione his Potions textbook in the middle of her lecture, a disappointed expression on her face. 

Once the stern witch had moved back toward the front of the classroom, continuing her lecture on complex non-verbal transfigurations like changing into an Animagus form, Hermione leaned toward Harry. “So now you are cheating in Potions!” she spat at him furiously.

McGonagall was looking at him again, and Harry groaned inwardly, knowing that she was upset with him and in all probability would be telling his father that he was misbehaving in class. With tons of homework stacking up despite the fact that it was merely their first week back, his dorm mates treating him with distant politeness, and now Hermione mad at him, last thing the teenager needed was his parent angry as well. The evenings in the Potions master’s chambers were usually quiet but comfortable, with Severus grading assignments while Harry worked on his homework, usually with Hermione’s quiet instructions. He sighed as he stowed his book back in his bag and tried to pay attention to what his teacher was saying. 

It was a little awkward when Professor McGonagall held him back after class, and Harry gathered his bag to trudge after the tartan-clad woman as she led him down a familiar hallway. Settling behind her desk with a tight look at his pale face, Minerva McGonagall watched him closely as she told him that his Quidditch ban lifted by Minister Bones herself, and that he had had been chosen as the new captain of the Gryffindor House team. The bewildered expression on the teenager’s face gave way to a huge grin as the news sunk in.

“Mister Potter-Snape, you were chosen for this position based on your ability to lead and organize the team, your own talent as a seeker was not a factor,” the tartan-clad witch told him sternly before giving him a sad smile. “If they can not respect you or your abilities, Harry, than they do not deserve to be on the team. Keep that in mind.” 

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure I can do the job.”

She patted him briskly on the shoulder. “I have become rather fond of the Quidditch Cup residing in my study, Harry, and do not want to give your father the opportunity to take it from me. Don’t disappoint me, my boy.”

Harry flew out of the room with a grin, and down the hallway. Here, finally, was something he had earned himself, with his own abilities, not because he was the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One! Without conscious thought, his feet took him toward the dungeons, his mind swirling with thoughts about tryouts, practices, and the feeling of happiness welling up inside him. There was so much to do, with reserving the pitch and consulting with Ron on strategy. Katie Bell could help too; she had been on the team for five years, and maybe Ginny would have some ideas also.

Harry never saw the hex that snaked out of the shadows at him, but he felt it as approached his back, and he automatically threw up a shielding spell around him. As he turned, he heard the curse bounce off the mirror on the wall beside him, shattering it; shards of glass flew at him like daggers. Ignoring the pain, the young Gryffindor flexed his arm, his wand sliding smoothly into his hand, and sent a stunning spell at the shadows to his left. A yelp of pain told Harry he had gotten close to his hidden assailant, but the lack of a fallen body suggested that whoever it was had moved. 

Diving to the right, Harry rolled painfully through a piled of a broken glass. A jet of red spell-light brushed his left shoulder, and it exploded in pain. He spared a second to be glad it was after classes and the corridor was clear, then he cast a powerful _Petrificus Totalus_ wordlessly. The sound of a body hitting the floor with a dull thud was grimly satisfying, as was the skittering of a wand across the stone floor. He dropped to his knees, shoulder on fire, as he shot a silver stag into the air they way his father had taught him. His wand hand remained steady on the form still in the shadows as he waited for someone to answer his summons. 

Harry tried not the think of the pain he was feeling as embarrassment settled over him; he couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to be ambushed in the corridor. ‘Constant vigilance,’ Mad-Eye Moody was forever saying, and yet he had allowed himself to become distracted by a bit of good news. The first glimpse of his father’s scowling face coming down the hallway was a beautiful sight, Harry decided, and he watched with fascination at the way his robes billowed as the man strode toward him. 

“Harry! What happened?” Severus came to kneel beside him, as Professor McGonagall came hurrying up behind him.

Unable to meet the dark eyes, Harry glanced at his Head of House before staring at his wand hand. “I was coming to see you in the dungeons, but I was not watching where I was going and almost let a hex hit me from behind. I was able to block it, and it hit the mirror instead, before I managed to stun him.”

The witch followed the direction his wand was pointing and moved to lean over the still form on the floor.

“ _Finite Incantatem!_ ” 

Harry could hear a groan, but did not look over as his father helped him to his feet. With a wave of his wand, the Potions master extracted the slivers of glass and cast a repair charm on the ancient mirror. Gasping when several deeply embedded fragments pulled out, Harry willed away the pain he felt as he grasped the hand Severus extended to him. 

“Well, Mister Carmichael, do you have an explanation for your actions?”

The sullen face of Eddie Carmichael, a Ravenclaw seventh year, was illuminated by the torchlight as Minerva McGonagall pulled him to his feet. Harry was stunned, wondering why the other boy would attack him from behind, when Carmichael looked at him and smirked.

“You may have won the duel, Potter, but at least I won’t be facing detection from my daddy!”

Frowning in confusion, Harry looked at his father with a minute shake of his head.

“Impossible, Carmichael, Potter was in my office up until barely ten minutes ago. He has not had time to engage in a duel with anyone!” the Transfiguration professor exploded at what she knew was a blatant lie.

“Indeed,” Professor Snape said, as he reached a hand out and wiped a trail of blood from Harry’s cheek. “It would seem to me, judging from the angle of the glass fragments, that you hexed a fellow student from behind, Mister Carmichael.”

“Minerva.” The quiet but firm voice from behind the Potions master announced the arrival of the Headmaster. “If you will please escort Mister Carmichael to my office, I believe you will find Professor Flitwick already waiting. I will be along momentarily.”

With a nod, the stern witch prodded the Ravenclaw down the hall in front of her, his wand springing to her hand as she walked by it. Albus Dumbledore turned his attention to Harry, who stood quietly; his shoulder throbbed in pain, and he tried to digest what had happened in the past few minutes. A blue-veined hand cupped his chin and tilted his head to the side, the clear blue eyes glinting with anger.

“I think you need to take your son down to your chambers, Severus, and tend to his injuries. I am not sure of the origins of this particular mirror, but it would be wise to check for any residual magic in the wounds.” The Headmaster gave him a reassuring smile before leaning closer to whisper. “Do not try and heal these yourself, my boy, until your father has a look at them.”

With a nod, Harry glanced at Severus. He turned and grabbed his book bag, only to hiss as his robes drug across raw lacerations and his left shoulder exploded in pain. His father was immediately at his side, and steadied him before retrieving the bag himself. Gingerly the teenager made his way to the dungeons with his father, trying to act as if nothing had happened. He returned the greetings of those fellow students brave enough to call out to him with the scowling, black-clad figure at his side. Despite the pain he now felt, Harry had to smile at the reactions the pair received, particularly the younger years leaping to get out of the way of the stalking Slytherin.

Once they were safely inside their chambers, Harry stood in the sitting room and carefully unclasped his robes, unbuttoning his shirt awkwardly. Severus eased both garments off his shoulders, taking care to draw them down slowly on the injured side. The young Gryffindor could feel the brush of magic as his wounds were checked for Dark magic, then the warmth of a healing spell. Tender fingers gently prodded his left shoulder as Harry stood stoically, refusing to whimper despite the pain.

“Minerva said you were in her office after class?”

A whispered spell and a layer of magical warmth settled like a blanket over the area where the hex had hit him, and Harry sighed in relief as the worst of the pain disappeared. Sure strokes rubbed some type of ointment into the tender areas of his shoulder and back, filling his nostrils with the strong smell of menthol. Harry enjoyed the gentle ministrations and the veiled prodding of his parental figure, complying when his face was tilted upwards by a gentle hand.

“Yeah,” he said, striving for a casual tone, “she wanted to tell me I was the new Quidditch captain for the Gryffindor team.”

“Well done, son.” Severus smiled down at him as he smoothed the potion down the side of his face and neck. “What happened after you left the office, then?”

Harry explained what had happened, describing the way he felt the hex coming at him from the shadows of the corridor, and could see that his father was trying to restrain his anger while he finished tending to his injuries. Slender fingers pushed the fringe back from his forehead, and Harry leaned into the caress, glad to savor the still new feeling of having someone take care of him. 

“Carmichael attacked you from behind, but you were able to feel the hex coming toward you?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, meeting the dark eyes, “it was like I could feel the pulsing of the magic before it got to me.”

His father nodded thoughtfully. “Most powerful witches and wizards are able to detect burst of magic that are in the area or specifically directed at them. The most sensitive are able to dodge and counter these, and it makes them the best duelers.” 

Harry’s mind leapt back to the duel in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic at the end of June, and how both Voldemort and Dumbledore had been able to avoid the unspoken hexes and curses that were thrown back and forth. “I saw it that day at the Ministry,” he said quietly.

His father studied his face intently. “Why don’t you lie down on the couch, Harry, and heal your shoulder while I made something for dinner? I believe you will be more comfortable if we dine here this evening, rather than in the Great Hall.”

Harry nodded gratefully and eased himself down on the couch, surprised when the older man tucked a blanket around him. Concentrating on the ache in his shoulder, Harry closed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep, as he was gently shaken awake a short time later by a terrified looking Hermione Granger and a pale Ron Weasley.

“Oh, Harry!” The witch threw herself at him, squeezing the breath out of him.

“Miss Granger, I believe my son is in need of oxygen. If you could loosen your grip?”

Harry fell back onto the couch as Hermione jumped up and whirled around. His father set a covered dish down on the table, and Harry almost laughed when he saw that the older man had shed his robes, and was clad in his black trousers and white shirt. Both his friends looked flabbergasted at seeing their stern Potions master clad so informally, and having obviously prepared their dinner for them.

“Might I inquire how you get in to our rooms, Miss Granger?”

“Pro—Professor Dumbledore brought us down after we heard what had happened, sir, but we should have waited for you to give us permission, I know, we were just so worried about Harry—”

His father held up his hand to stop the rush of words, and exchanged a glance with Harry before he nodded his permission.

Indicating the table, now set for four, the usually dour man gave his son’s friends a small smile. Ron moved past him toward a seat, edging to the side as if he wasn’t sure whether the Head of Slytherin was safe in his natural habitat. Harry smothered a smile and watched as his father rolled his eyes before moving to help him to his feet. Running a hand over his shoulder, his father nodded in approval at the now unblemished skin and helped Harry into his shirt. 

The meal was a lively one, with Ron jumping in as soon as he was satisfied that this was Harry’s father sitting with them, not his formerly most hated professor waiting to pounce. For his part, Harry was pleased to note the neutral, not unfriendly expression on his face as the three friends were able to finally talk freely, reassuring themselves that their friendship was intact. Harry smiled, finally at ease for the first time since the incident in the Gryffindor dorm. The Potions master sipped on a glass of red wine, and was heard grumbling under his breath about the Golden Trio and their enduring sentimental bonds.

* * *


	24. Quidditch and other trophies

* * *

The second week of school progressed in a smoother fashion than the first, and things seemed to even out a bit, Harry thought as he walked down to the Quidditch pitch. It was the third Saturday in September, a cloudy, misty day. Ron walked on one side of him, with Hermione and Ginny flanking him on the other, as they made their way down for the Gryffindor team tryouts. Ron was trying out as keeper again and Ginny as Chaser, as was the balance of the team. Katie Bell waved enthusiastically at him from beside the center goal post. 

Harry stopped short as he saw what appeared to be the whole of Gryffindor House milling around in front of the stands. After the problems he had encountered with his dorm mates, the turnout surprised him, particularly since half were trying out and the other half followed Hermione to the stands to watch. After a moment of pondering what he was going to do with all the students in attendance, Harry finally sorted them into three groups of about ten each and started with sending the younger boys into the air for flying trials. It became apparent soon enough that most of them were not skilled enough to ride their brooms long distance at any speed, and he sent them to the stands.

A group of giggling girls made up the next group. Most of them seemed to be more interested in simpering and trying to stand close to him than in navigating the trial course he had laid out for them to fly. One particularly irritating fifth year, Romilda Vane, had already shown her infatuation for him during meals in the Great Hall, and Harry shuddered at the thought. Most of them cleared the pitch and sat in the stands with several girls from other Houses who had come to watch. 

With a shake of his head, Harry turned back to the few second and third year girls were actually trying out for the Seeker position. Even after sorting through those left, Harry was faced with an extraordinary number of students trying out for all positions. Katie Bell, Ginny, and Ron were the only players from last year’s team to return for tryouts. Both the girls easily out-fielded and out-flew the other hopefuls, with Demelza Robins coming closest to their level of skill. Ron managed to just edge out his main competition, a large, wiry seventh year named Cormac McLaggen. The latter was not happy about Harry’s decision and became irate, accusing Harry of favoritism.

“Ron blocked more that you did, and won fair and square,” Harry told him coldly. “I was going to offer you the reserve position, McLaggen, but if you continue making an arse of yourself, I’ll find someone else!”

The seventh year stomped off, and Harry finished by appointing a reserve Chaser and choosing a tiny second year as the reserve Seeker. It had taken the better part of the morning for all those who wanted to tryout to go through the course, and resulted in two crashes, three students to the hospital wing, and Harry with a knot on the side of his head from a well-hit Bludgers hit by one of his new Beaters. The stands emptied, everyone heading up for lunch, while Harry set up the first practice for the following Saturday afternoon, despite being the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term.

Ginny headed up toward the castle with Katie, Dean, and Demelza, while Ron was swept forward in a group of Gryffindor girls, with Lavender Brown grabbing his elbow and the simpering group of younger girls crowding around them. Hermione sighed gustily at his side, and Harry shot her a puzzled look.

“Why don’t you just tell him that you like him?” he asked quietly.

“Because I want someone who is a bit more mature than Ron, Harry,” his friend told him sadly as she looped her arm through his. “I want a boyfriend who is looking for someone to stimulate more than his… libido.” 

Harry nodded, his eyes straying to where Dean Thomas, the new reserve Chaser, tagged along behind the other Chasers. He knew what it was to feel on the outside looking in; even with Cho Chang, during their disastrous but thankfully short dating, it had never felt right. Ginny’s infatuation with him predated his meeting the ginger-haired girl, as Harry found out the summer before his second year, and even though she insisted she was over it, it did bother him.

“Besides, I’ve seen the looks you shoot at Ginny when you think no one is watching, Harry.”

His stomach clenched, and Harry started to pull away, but Hermione just tightened her grip. “Would you ever be able to get beyond her fascination with the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry? Or is it something that would fester in the back of your mind ?”

He stopped and turned toward the witch, seeing nothing but sincere concern in the hazel eyes. A gust of wind blew a strand of hair across her face, and Harry reached up to brush it back, his fingers lingering on the soft strand.

“You’re right, as usual, but what should we do about it?” he asked, tilting his head to study her face. His gaze was so intent that she blushed.

“Well, we could make ourselves a couple, that way neither of us has to feel like we are alone. Maybe it would make things more enjoyable for us both.”

Harry nodded, his fingers tucking the hair behind her ear and smiled. “I’d like that, especially with everybody’s reactions to my father. You have always been there for me, Hermione, even when Ron has turned his back. I’d really like it if you’d come with me to the dungeons after lunch, and we’ll get that Potions essay done.”

“I’d love to, Harry.” Hermione slid her hand into his and laced their fingers together as they walked back to the castle, not letting go when they stepped into the Great Hall. 

Harry was warmed by the feel of their interlaced fingers, and grinned at the dark eyebrow that disappeared into his father’s hairline as he caught sight of them. Ron was already seated on the far side of the side of the Gryffindor table, Lavender pressed close against his side, Katie Bell seated at a respectable distance on the other. A goofy smile on his somewhat dazed face, the redhead didn’t even blink at the sight of him and Hermione. Lunch conversation centered on the Quidditch tryouts, but Harry tuned them out as his eyes strayed to the Slytherin table.

Draco Malfoy had been a model student since the problem on the Hogwarts Express, respectful to his teachers and diligently serving his detentions, but Harry wasn’t fooled. Every other morning, the large eagle owl soared into the Great Hall at breakfast, delivering letters and parcels to the blond teenager. Security had been tightened and Harry was sure the post was checked, but he was quite certain the Slytherin was receiving instructions from Voldemort under the guise of letters from home. It wasn’t himself he was worried about, it was his father. The Potions master was constantly exposed to all the Slytherins, as well as multiple classes of students brewing potentially hazardous potions, and Harry knew the man had not undertaken any new precautions in the classroom.

Malfoy leaned across Gregory Goyle to whisper something urgently to Blaise Zabini, his lip curled in a snarl. The dark-skinned teen glared back before pointedly turning away and ignoring his housemate. Harry watched intently, wondering if the blond had lost standing within his own House with his vehement support of Voldemort. Glancing at his father, Harry realized that he too had witnessed the exchange; then the Headmaster bent his head towards the raven-haired man, listening intently, and blocked Harry’s view of his father. Looking back, Harry saw Malfoy staring at him, a look of absolute hatred on his face, and he smiled in response.

hpsshpsshpss

“Harry!” Severus called as he stepped into the sitting room of their chambers after lunch. He was surprised when a bushy brown head popped up from behind the couch, followed by his son’s dark head. Crossing his arms over his chest and affixing a dark scowl to his face, Severus, stared pointedly as the teenagers scrambled to their feet. A blush colored the girl’s cheeks, and Harry wore a cheeky grin.

“Miss Granger, do I even want to know what you were doing hidden behind the furniture with my son?” he asked in his best classroom voice.

Harry spoiled his attempt at intimidation when he walked over and threw his arms around Severus in a hug. Still not used to the affection his son showed him, the older man relented, dropping his arms to hug the boy back. Emerald eyes sparkled up at him mischievously when the tousled head tipped back.

“What if we were snogging, Papa, would we be in trouble?”

Severus sputtered and Granger choked; Harry laughed in delight until the arm around his shoulders became a band of steel. 

“I was joking, Father!” 

His son squirmed as Severus brought both hands up to bracket his shoulders, pulling him back against his chest and giving the witch a clear shot at the back of his head.

“Ow! Hermione, I was just trying to tease him!”

“And why were you down there?” The glare on the man’s face was intimidating, even to Harry.

“Hermione dropped her box of Bertie Botts Every Flavored Beans, and we were just trying to pick them up.” The emerald eyes were wide with innocence, but Severus could see the amusement that sparkled in their depths.

“Hmm… and a simple summoning charm would not have accomplished that,” Severus looked from his son’s now openly laughing eyes, to the witch’s pink-tinged face. “It would be so much easier if you were six instead of sixteen.”

“What would?” his son asked as he attempted to pull away. 

“The spanking you sorely deserve for being a cheeky brat,” said the Potions master with a smirk as he landed a swat on the teen’s arse. 

Yelping, Harry tried to scoot away, only to be held firmly by the arm around his shoulder. Long, slender fingers probed at his scalp, pulling another yelp from him as they found the lump on the right side of his head.

“I understand the Quidditch tryouts were very popular this morning, but were not without mishap. Several students are currently enjoying the gentle ministrations of Poppy Pomfrey.” 

“Just a bit rough, Papa, nothing too bad,” he muttered, allowing his forehead to rest on his father’s shoulder as the gentle fingers mapped the sore area just behind his ear.

“You should have let Poppy look at this, Harry,” the older man admonished gently. “And when are you going to explain to me what is truly going on with the two of you?”

Straightening, Harry stepped back and glanced at Hermione, who stood nervously twisting her hands together. After all they had been through and the ground they had fought to gain, the last thing Harry was going to do was lie to Severus. Extending his hand to Hermione, Harry tugged her down beside him on the couch, and his father followed them, unbuttoning his heavy teaching robes before seating himself in his favorite chair.

“Everyone seems to have paired up already, and Hermione and I felt a bit left out. We are best friends, and we’ll be together most of the time anyway, so we figured we would just do it as a couple.”

The dark eyes flicked from one face to the other, coming back to study Hermione’s. “And you are in agreement with this arrangement, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, Professor.”

A small smile signaled the stoic man’s acceptance of their offbeat solution to being on the outside looking in. “Well, as long as you do not subject me to public displays of affection, particularly in the Great Hall, I am wholeheartedly in support of this arrangement. You could not have made a better choice of a girlfriend, Harry. Tea, Hermione?”

hpsshpsshpss

Contentment was a pleasant feeling, Severus realized as he walked Hermione Granger back to the Gryffindor dormitory the following Friday night, following a ‘study date’, as Harry called dinner and homework in their quarters. The young woman’s intelligence had always been apparent, but it was her ability to view an issue from all angles and make a decision based on the facts instead of the emotional decisions, a skill that Harry lacked, that impressed him the most. He had seen the witch stand up for what she believed was right, not afraid to disagree with him or Harry, when she had the evidence to back up her opinion. 

A sudden realization struck him as they crossed the deserted Entrance Hall and began to climb the marble steps. “You remind me very much of my study partner when I was in my upper years, Hermione,” Severus told her with a smile.

The hazel eyes and the thoughts they concealed were guarded; the Potions master had not been surprised to find the Gryffindor had taught herself Occlumency the previous year, in order to help Harry if he asked. Her shields were quite strong, and had withstood his attempts at Legilimens when they tested them the previous night. Harry had been touch by her thoughtfulness, and proud of Hermione’s accomplishments.

“How so, sir?”

Stopping her with a hand on her arm as they reached the fourth floor landing, Severus turned the young woman towards him. “You have the same keen intelligence, the same driving desire to learn, as well as the fierce loyalty and protectiveness she felt for everyone she loved. Lily Evans would have been very pleased to see her son in your company.” He smiled at her blush. “Although I for one am glad that you don’t have the fiery temper that when with that flame-colored hair of hers.”

A brilliant smile lit the witch’s face, and in that moment Severus could see the beauty Hermione was still growing into highlighted in the glow of the torches. Then a sound in the corridor drew both their attention.

“Severus?” Albus Dumbledore, garbed in fuchsia and gold robes, stepped into the pool of light. “Is everything alright?”

“Good evening, Albus,” Severus acknowledged his mentor as he fell into step with the pair. “I was escorting Miss Granger back to the Tower. Their study session went late, and I wanted Harry to have time to meditate before retiring.”

“I see, and what subject was so interesting, Miss Granger?”

Severus tuned out the conversation, following the two up to the portrait door of the Gryffindor Tower, his mind returning to his son’s pale face. His curse scar had begun to prickle an hour before. Harry had done an exceptional job of mastering his Occlumency and shielding his thoughts from outside influences, and Voldemort had seemed to have left him alone after the rout in August. Hermione was intuitive enough to have picked up on the change in Harry’s demeanor and had put away their school things. Urging him to lay down, she had taken Harry’s head in her lap, and sent Severus a message in his lab via Dobby. Somehow, Severus knew he had to find a way to break the connection that the evil bastard was using to torture his son.

Still lost in thought, he nodded goodbye to Hermione and followed the Headmaster in silence, not at all surprised to find himself at the gargoyle. Stepping on to the moving staircase, Severus rode it with barely contained impatience as it took him to the circular office. 

“Tea, Severus?” 

A steaming cup of black tea appeared before him, and the Potions master took it with muttered thanks, blowing across the top before taking a cautious sip. He nodded his thanks at he looked up to see Albus Dumbledore pacing in front of his desk. The elderly wizard seemed even more agitated than Severus felt, and he pushed his concerns to the back of his mind, waiting for the other man to speak.

“In your early years of association with Tom Riddle, do remember any of the methods he investigated to ensure his immortality, Severus? A spell or potion, perhaps, that would have helped him accomplish the goal that he could have started while still a student here at Hogwarts?” 

“I was not within his inner circle in those early days, and in fact was in London much of that time earning my mastery,” Severus told him, sending his thoughts back to days that held many painful memories. “I do remember Regulus Black trying to tell me about something that he thought the Dark Lord was trying, and it was at about the same time that Lucius Malfoy visited me in London, carrying a summons. I missed a week of classes preparing several odd potions of the type that I had never seen before or since.” 

Severus frowned, setting the teacup down on the small table beside his chair. “Voldemort himself asked me if I knew what a ‘Horcrux’ was, and I had no idea at the time. I know very little else even now, after years of trying to research the subject. I have learned that it is so Dark that even most Dark wizards fear to speak of it.” 

The colorfully clad man stood staring out the window at the darkened Quidditch pitch, his mood somber. “Do you recall if any of the potions you worked on incorporated unicorn blood?”

Severus could feel his left eyebrow crawl up into this hairline. Unicorn blood was highly illegal and used only in potions that included Dark magic, because only a truly evil wizard would kill a unicorn for his own means. He knew himself well enough to know he would have refused to make any potion containing that as an ingredient, at least initially; delving into the catalog of memories from that period in the neatly ordered alcoves of his mind, Severus went by a particularly bad memory before going back and examining the memory more closely. It was the worst of many conflicts he had had with the elder Malfoy in his early days as his initiate to the Dark Lord, and the one that had taught him not to overtly disagree with one of Voldemort’s lieutenants, as it had been the first time he had been subjected to Death Eater discipline.

“There was a potion that I was told to brew just prior to Voldemort’s first fall…. I was not allowed to handle the ingredients at all. Lucius Malfoy had everything already lined up and ready, and the recipe I was given just specified the ‘next vial’. There was a large flask of a silvery liquid that I had initially thought to be mercury, but it did not have the weight or the characteristics of that metal,” Severus told his mentor, keeping his eyes on a patch of faded carpeting. “I was dissuaded from inquiring further, however, and the potion was completed, with Malfoy casting any necessary spells on it as it simmered.”

“Did you ever hear Voldemort or any of his inner circle discussing a way to split the soul?”

Severus paled at the implications of what Albus Dumbledore’s words. In order to split a human soul, one needed to commit an act so heinous that it defied his understanding, and he slowly shook his head, even as a long-buried memory surfaced. 

“There was something….” Severus frowned, trying to focus on the fragment of a memory of a hurried conversation over sixteen years ago. “Regulus Black came to me one day before he was killed, because he knew I had been… wavering at the time in my dedication, and told me that Voldemort had created a…” 

Severus stood, and began his own pacing as he rubbing his temples with both fingers, trying to pull what had, at that time, been an unfamiliar word from the recesses of his mind. 

“Horcrux… Regulus said the Dark Lord had created a Horcrux.” Severus looked up and met the grave blue eyes.

Dumbledore nodded at him, the lines on his face deepening as he took in the word Severus used. “A Horcrux is a vessel or object in which the part of a soul is housed.”

“Voldemort split his soul?” Severus asked, his voice a harsh whisper as his mind raced to catalog all the implications and repercussions that revelation could have on his and his son’s lives.

“I believe so, Severus.”

His son. How would this effect Harry and his ability to fulfill the Prophecy that hung so heavily over both of them? ‘… and the Dark Lord will mark him as an equal…’ Severus felt behind him for his chair, sitting in it heavily, as a sudden, horrifying thought occurred to him. 

“Albus, Harry’s scar… the connection he shares with Voldemort…”

The Headmaster’s eyes were darkly shadowed. “I don’t know, Severus, I just don’t know.”

hpsshpsshpss

Harry awoke with a start, the scar on his forehead on fire and his stomach churning. The searing white-hot pain stabbed at him again, and he pressed the palm of his hand against the lightning bolt scar, curling up into a ball as the pain pulsed through him. He was vaguely aware of his bedroom door slamming open, and he tensed until he felt his father’s presence. With a groan, Harry rolled toward the older man, knowing he represented help and comfort. Harry found himself lifted; the soft, murmuring voice calming him as he slowly unfolded, and was rewarded with a sweet, foamy tasting potion. Recognizing it from the taste as the one his father had created for him to ease both the scar pain and the stomach distress, Harry sighed and opened his eyes.

“Bloody hell!” he moaned as he leaned against his father, still pressing his palm against the throbbing scar.

“Language, Mister Potter-Snape,” Severus’ gently admonished him, and brought a smile to his lips.

Harry peered up at the blurry image he was leaning against with what he hoped was a glare, but did not apologize. “He is really happy about something, and I am really tired of learning and practicing my meditation and Occlumency barriers, only to have the bas—him break through when his ruddy emotions get out of hand!”

“Any indication of what might have caused his… happiness?” 

Harry shook his head, and leaned against his father as he struggled to rein in the frustration he was feeling over the situation. Sometimes his life felt like it was at odds with itself, as he struggled to learn all he needed to in order to do what was expected of him, only to find that it was to no avail. Here he was, sixteen years old, almost an adult by the standards of the wizarding community, and all he wanted to do was bury his face in the soft folds of his father’s dressing gown. It would not do to hide from the world, but maybe for just this little while he could, Harry thought as he allowed his father to comfort him.

“Harry?”

Reluctantly, Harry raised his head to meet the worried onyx eyes.

“I am not sure what this particular incident might mean, but I was wondering if you were planning on going into Hogsmeade tomorrow with the others?”

Harry smiled; it seemed that in the past few months that the older man had indeed learned a bit about his son’s personality. If his father had been patronizing or overbearing, Harry knew he would probably react contrary to what Severus wanted. 

“Hermione and I were going to stay in and take advantage of the quiet to finish up our Charms essays in the morning, since I have the first Quidditch practice scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Excellent idea, son.” But the smile Severus gave him did not reach his eyes.

Pulling away, Harry scrutinized the tired face of the older man with narrowed eyes. Something had happened since the Potions master had left with Hermione, and he knew by the pinched look of worry on the man’s face that it had to do with him. Their pact about secrets still held, and Harry sat waiting expectantly, meeting the onyx eyes. His father let out a sigh, and lifted on hand to massage the bridge of his nose, a nervous gesture that his son immediately recognized.

“Papa?” Harry hated the anxious undertone to his voice.

“It’s something Albus is researching, son, something that Voldemort may have done to try and ensure his immortality.”

“It must be something truly terrible, Papa. You look very worried.” Harry’s soft voice was concerned.

“It terrifies me, Harry, as it involves the ripping apart of his soul, something only the most heinous acts will accomplish,” his father told him honestly. “There are things I don’t understand yet, and I don’t really want to talk about it until I do, alright?”

Harry nodded even as he sensed this had something to do with him. He had learned that his father was worthy of his trust, and Severus would tell him when he had additional information. Throwing an arm around the older man’s waist, Harry leaned into him and closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the embrace to chase away a sudden coldness inside him that his father’s words had wrought. 

_Think about tomorrow_ , he told himself in an effort at distraction. Maybe he could persuade Dobby to pack him lunch and Hermione would go out to the pitch with him before practice for picnic before Quidditch practice.

* * *


	25. Snitches and Spells

* * *

A bitterly cold breeze blew across the still green grass of the pitch, disbursing the warmth of the sun as a bank of clouds approached. Harry and Hermione sat tucking the remnants of their picnic lunch back into the basket, a heavy blanket combined with a warming charm keeping them comfortable. Most of the students who were eligible had gone into Hogsmeade, where a squad of Auror patrolled the streets to ensure their safety. The Gryffindor Quidditch team was due back in twenty minutes to begin their first practice, and Hermione had been making some suggestions about drills to strengthen individual flying strengths. Harry listened intently; he could tell that the witch did not have any better understanding of the game, but she did make valid points about honing the underlying skills.

Hermione looked up at him just as the breeze whipped a strand of hair across her face, and Harry leaned in, not quite sure what his original intent was. With a wicked grin, he moved close enough to gentle press his lips against Hermione’s chilled ones with gentle pressure, before pulling back. A gentle smile curved his lips as Harry watched a blush stain her cheeks, and he started shift closer again when they heard a shout behind them.

“Oi, Harry!”

Turning around, Harry watched Ron walk across the pitch, Lavender Brown hanging off his arm. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch players straggled behind them across the grassy expanse between the pitch and the castle, with students from other Houses tagging along. The members of the team had their brooms, as did Harry, whose Firebolt was laying along the far side of the bench they leaned against. Ron shot him a hard look and Harry smiled back at him, careful not to smirk, before turning to help Hermione up from the ground. He walked her to the stands before summoning his broom and meeting the others on the pitch.

Leaving the equipment trunk on the field, Harry set the entire team to flying the pitch and loosening up. After several laps, he led them through one of the drills he and Hermione had developed over lunch, flying in a series of concentric loops around the goal posts. The sky was overcast, a steely gray that promised rain, the wind bitterly cold, but they ran through the first drills without complaint. Landing, Harry opened the equipment trunk and pulled out two practice Quaffles, and began passing drills amongst the Chasers and Keeper. The Beaters took the Bludgers and moved around the others, protecting them as they practiced. Harry had his own Snitch in his pocket, the professional grade one his father had given him, and he grinned at the tiny second year as she looked at the golden-winged ball he held. 

“Come along, Heather; let’s get in some practice, too.”

Harry released the Snitch, the two of them chased it up and down the pitch, weaving between the other players and dodging Bludgers as they went. Harry caught the small ball five times before he called a break, and sat hovering in the air with his teammates as the wind whipped around them. Recasting warming charms on them, Harry glanced at the sky and decided they had time for one more drill.

“Here, Harry, let’s use my Snitch.” Tiny Heather May had a glazed, unfocused look in her eyes, as she pulled the ball from her pocket with gloved hands.

The fact that the girl had produced her own Snitch, especially in light of her suddenly befuddled state, made him leery. He was even more wary when the Snitch, which seemed to glow with a dull blue aura, barely stayed aloft with by the slow movement of its wings, rather than taking off at a high rate of speed. The others had already started a new drill, but Katie Bell chose that moment to circle behind them and with a shout of laughter swooped toward the floating Snitch.

“Even I can catch that, Harry!” 

The instant her fingers touched the golden ball, Katie screamed.

Lunging forward, Harry used the palm of his fingerless Quidditch gloves to bat it out of the Chaser’s hand, his finger barely brushing a wing. Excruciating pain shot through him as he slammed the ball into his chest, managing to wrap it in his shirt before darkness overcame him.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Severus sat at his desk in his office, debating whether he should head up to the Great Hall early. Few students took advantage of his Saturday office hours on a Hogsmeade weekend, but he was reluctant for some reason to leave. Before he could make a decision, the bright silver form of an otter shot through the wall toward him, and Severus recognized Hermione’s Patronus. The message was short and concise: _Harry’s hurt, we’re in the hospital wing._

The Potions master flew out of the office, the door slamming and warding behind him automatically. He did not remember the trip through corridors crowded with first and second years, was unaware of anything but the driving need to get to his son. Seeing the dark head and pale face lying motionless on the flat pillow of hospital bed, his heart stuttered painfully in his chest, and he felt the all too familiar shock of fear that he had experienced that first afternoon in Surrey. Poppy hurried to Severus as he sank into the chair beside the bed. Hermione was sitting silently on the other side.

“It appears that someone put the young reserve Seeker under the Imperius Curse and gave her a cursed Snitch to use at Quidditch practice this afternoon,” Poppy told him briskly. “Katie Bell actually grabbed it with her bare hand and was in bad shape, Severus. I was forced to send her to St. Mungo’s; her condition was unstable at best.”

“Do you know which curse it was?” he asked quietly as he stroked the damp hair back from Harry’s forehead.

“No, but it was definitely Dark and very old, I think,” she said softly. “Harry was wise enough to recognize the problem, I believe, and he used the palm of his glove to nudge the ball out of Miss Bell’s hand. Unfortunately, one of the wings must have brushed his fingers, as he collapsed and fell from his broom after he had secured the Snitch.”

Severus latched on to the information. “So he had only limited exposure to whatever curse was put on the Snitch?”

The mediwitch nodded, her face worried. “I have done all the standard counter-curses, and healed the broken clavicle and two ribs caused by his fall. He will be sore for the next few days…” Her words drifted off suddenly as she stared down at the pale face.

“What is it, Poppy?” Severus picked up his son’s hand and was startled by how cold it was.

“He shows no sign of waking, Severus. Katie was catatonic, with no response at all to any stimuli,” Poppy told him quietly. “I stabilized her, but could not keep her that way by myself. Harry has not been affected to that degree, but he did brush against a Dark curse, and it will take time to recover.”

Severus looked up at her, determination glinting in his eyes. “I would like to take him to our rooms, Poppy, where I feel he will be safer and I can monitor him.”

Poppy shot him a dubious look. “Severus, I don’t think—”

“Poppy,” Severus stopped her as he stood, “you said you had done all you can for him here, and I need to know my son is safe. I will put a monitoring spell on him so that I can monitor him even when I am in class.” 

The tired brown eyes of the mediwitch searched his face, and Severus allowed his emotions to show in his eyes, his desire to take care of his son and his love. With a sigh that said it was against her best judgment, Poppy nodded slowly before bustling about to take some final readings before she allowed Severus to cast a Feather-Light Charm on his son. Carefully picking him up from the bed, Severus tilted his head toward Hermione Granger, who still sat beside the bed, Harry’s broom clutched in her. Gathering up the broom and Harry’s Quidditch gloves, she followed him to the dungeons.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Severus sat vigil over his son late into the night, unwilling to leave his side. He had sent Hermione back to her dorm after allowing her to spend the afternoon and evening with Harry while he prepared several potions that he felt might help. The teenager had not moved since he had been moved from the hospital wing, and Severus was increasingly concerned. With Harry’s natural healing ability, the Potions master had deluded himself into believing that he would be up and well by evening, and he had been very wrong. 

Taking Harry’s right hand between his, Severus was not surprised to find it slightly cool, the golden signet ring on his finger catching the light of the single candle burning on the bedside table. His fingers ran over the detail of the top, tracing the ‘S’ as he watched the still face. The only sign of life in the boy was the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest.

“You can’t give up, Harry, you have to fight this curse,” Severus told him, struggling to keep the father in him from panicking. “I have had too little time with you to even contemplate something taking you from me, my son. I am unable to envision life without your smile anymore.”

Standing up with a heavy sign, Severus tried to lay the teenager’s hand back down, but found that Harry’s fingers had closed over his and would not let go. His eyes darting to the still face, Severus tried to detect any difference at all but could not. Thinking that perhaps it was a reflex for Harry to grip his hand, he leaned down gently to remove the fingers, only to have the fingers tighten fractionally. With a gasp, Severus pulled the interlocked fingers to his chest. Feeling the hand twitch again in his, he bent down to press a kiss on his son’s forehead.

“That’s it, Harry, find the curse, purge the darkness out of you, I know you can do it!”

Carefully removing his clothing and summoning a pair of sleep trousers from his room, Severus took care of his needs magically as he slid into bed, where he cradled his son to his chest.

“I am right here, Harry, and I promise you that I will always be here for you. Together we can beat anything the world, or Voldemort can throw at us!”

hpsshpsshpsshpss

The flickering torches barely lit the dark chamber, and Harry could feel rage surging through him. The boy had failed once again to accomplish the goal set for him. He looked down at the cool beauty of the mother, so like her son, and his fury overwhelmed him. 

_‘Crucio!’_

He said it in a high, cold voice, and the world bathed in a wash of red, as the excruciating pain tore through his body. Something was wrong, Harry thought, even as his body felt the torturous pain of the Unforgivable. He was not supposed to be here, in this mind; his barriers were strong. Concentrating, he pulled back from the scarlet eyes, the intolerable pain, and the cool, blonde woman screaming in agony on the tattered and worn rug. It seemed to take a long time to pull out and back into himself, into the warmth and comfort of his own mind. 

Warmth surrounded him, but his body seemed reluctant to obey him, and a feeling of panic swept though him. Harry could not open his eyes, but he knew that he was cradled in his father’s arms, and he tried to cry out, but his mouth remained closed. Harry screamed in his mind for his father. 

Something woke Severus, a twitch or sound of some kind. He laid perfectly still, his son tucked against his side, straining to figure out what had awoken him. And then it came again. The echo of a pain-filled cry sounded only in his mind, but he knew instantly that it was Harry and that he was struggling. Sitting up quickly, Severus eased his son down onto the pillow and studied the teenager’s pale face. Wondering what would cause Harry to cry out with such desperation, Severus laid his hand across his son’s forehead and winced when he felt the heat radiated from the lightning bolt scar.

Severus moved until he was leaning over Harry, supporting himself on his elbows as he framed the boy’s face in his hands. Brushing a thumb along the cheekbones he had inherited from his lovely mother, he thanked whatever deity had chosen James’ nose, and kissed the forehead his son had gotten from him. Severus marveled at the perfect blend of his parents in the pale face, and let all his barriers fall.

“Harry, if you can hear me, I need you to come back to me. Concentrate on my voice and reach out, I will be here to catch you.” Severus tried to swallow around the lump forming in his throat. “Please, son, use that power deep inside you to rid yourself of the Dark magic, use it to push that poison out and heal yourself. You have become my strength, Harry, my reason for living and fighting the evil that has invaded our world. I need you, my son.”

Straightening, the Potions master traced a finger tip over the scar again and brushing the hair back from Harry’s face. His throat continued to feel obstructed as he pulled away and sat up, arching his stiff back. He almost missed the faint whimper that came from the still figure lying in the bed.

“Harry?” 

Severus slid back into the bed, cradling his son to his chest, one hand stroking the soft black hair that had grown out almost to his shoulders. He continued to speak to Harry, telling him what he’d come to mean to the older wizard in the past four months, giving his son an anchor in the black world he envisioned the teenager to be trapped in. He dozed off here and there, to be awakened when he did by a needy whimper from the otherwise motionless teen. 

The dawn broke without either of them knowing, but as Severus’ voice grew hoarse and exhaustion tugged at him, a slender arm found its way around his waist. There was a slow warming of the pale skin, and Severus finally allowed himself to hope that all would be well. The sound of his son’s normal breathing lulled the Potions master to sleep, the dark head still resting on his chest.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Harry struggled to open his eyes; his eyelids felt like they were weighed down. The steady heartbeat under his ear told him his papa held him in a comforting embrace. It had been his father’s voice that reached through the swirling darkness Harry had found himself in and beckoned him back towards the golden light that represented Severus to him. Although a heaviness still weighed him down, rather felt like a hippogriff was sitting on his chest, Harry knew he had managed to do as his father begged him to do, and banished the Dark curse that had enveloped him. As well, he knew without conscious thought that his magic had healed the injuries to his body of its own accord. 

“Papa?” His voice did not seem to want to get past the parched tissues of his throat, and the word came out as little more than a croak, but it was enough to bring his father instantly awake.

The hand that came up to cup his cheek had a slight tremble to it, and Harry felt bad for having worried the older man. He tried to apologize, but coughed as his throat again failed to cooperate. He was gently shifted onto a stack of pillows. A goblet of sweet, cool water materialized at his lips, and Harry tried to gulp it greedily.

“Easy, son, just a little bit at a time.” His father’s deep voice was heavy with relief.

Harry allowed the delicious fluid to trickle down his throat, and swallowed the less tasty potion that followed it without question. The uncomfortable feeling of an overfull bladder made itself known, and Harry tried to sit up, but the older wizard seemed to realize the problem. Supporting him carefully, Severus assisted him to the toilet, holding him there without the embarrassment both would have felt a couple of months ago. A slight smile creased his lips as Harry thought idly at how far they had both come since the end of June.

As he was settled back into bed, Harry held on to his father’s hand, tugging Severus down with him. “I have to tell you…Voldemort…” 

Slender fingers stroked through his hair in a calming gesture as Severus leaned over him. “It’s all right, Harry, I am not going any further than the sitting room. I need to get a potion that will sooth that raspy throat, and a nutrition potion. I will be right back.”

Harry closed his eyes, the heaviness he had been feeling easing as whatever potion his father had already given him worked its way through his system. True to his word, Severus was back before he could fully relax into the pillows. Harry drank the potions obediently and his throat felt better immediately, enough so that he was able to drink half the goblet of water that his father held to his lips. He slipped on the glasses that were handed to him and was not surprised to see the dark circles under the older man’s eyes when he focused on his father.

“Better?” Severus asked as sat beside him, sipping at a hot cup of tea.

“Yes, thanks,” Harry leaned against him. “Is Katie going to be all right, Papa?”

“We don’t know yet, Harry, the curse that was on that snitch was very old and very Dark. Poppy had to send her to St Mungo's.”

“I could see the curse on it, like a glittering field around it. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I tried to bat it away from her.” He plucked at a stray thread on the bedcovers. “It was Malfoy who cast the Imperius on Heather, Papa and he must have given her the Snitch.”

An eyebrow climbed into his father’s hairline. “That is a serious accusation, Harry, especially when we are talking about an Unforgivable Curse. How can you be so certain?”

“I must have let my defenses slip when I was unconscious,” he said, shamefaced at his failure, “and I was open to a vision. Voldemort tortured Malfoy’s mother because he had failed again. He was using the Cruciatus Curse on her…” 

His voice trailed off as he thought back to what he had seen. Was it possible that Malfoy’s mother was being held prisoner until her son accomplished whatever it was that Voldemort wanted?

“You cried out to me when you were feeling the effects of the Cruciatus,” Severus said quietly, a touch of awe in his voice. “I think I heard you, as I woke up and your scar felt quite hot.” 

With a frown, Harry met his father’s eyes. “How could you hear me?”

“I believe that you projected it, directing it at me,” his father told him, a proud smile on his face. “A very powerful wizard is able to project their magic to those closest to them in times of great stress or need.” 

His eyes wide, Harry managed a crooked smile in return. “You must be just as powerful, Papa, because it was your voice that pierced the darkness around me and drew me back.”

Severus blinked at him in a rather good imitation of Hedwig, Harry thought, but he refrained from mentioning the similarity. When his father made no comment, Harry went on to describe the scene he had witnessed, and added his thoughts on why Draco Malfoy might be trying to appear to be a Death Eater. His eyelids were sagging again by the time he was finished, and he felt more than saw his father move to set his teacup down.

“Why does my chest feel heavy, Papa?” he asked as strong hands settled him back down flat in the bed.

“Besides falling from your broom and landing on your chest and shoulder, breaking your collarbone and two ribs, I believe your chest is where the bit of the curse you were exposed to migrated. Now, sleep. We will talk about this more when you wake.”

Sighing, Harry snuggled into the pillow. “I’m sorry I scared you, Papa. I love you.”

Fingertips brushed the fringe back from his scar, and Harry smiled as he felt his father press a kiss to it. “I love you as well, my son.”

hpsshpsshpsshpss

His father refused to let him out of bed for the next two days, with Poppy Pomfrey as an unsmiling co-conspirator, despite his protest that he had healed himself, and by the end of the afternoon on Monday, Harry was more than restless. Summoning the Marauder’s Map out of his trunk, the teenager tapped it with his wand as he muttered the words to activate its magic.

“I solemnly swear I am up to not good.”

The rumpled piece of parchment came alive, the castle appearing in lines and curves in front of him. Classes were over for the day, and Severus was supervising detention for several Hufflepuffs who had tried to blow the Potions classroom up the previous week. Starting at his father’s classroom, Harry smiled as he ran a fingertip over the flag that read _Severus Snape_ as it circled the classroom where three other flags, seemingly motionless, remained bunched together. Probably making them scrub the tops of the workstations, he thought with a grin before he moved on. Following the hallway to the Slytherin common room, he searched for Draco Malfoy.

He had almost given up when he happened to spot the solitary flag in a portion of the castle that seemed out of place for a lone Slytherin, on the seventh floor of the castle, in the area Harry knew hung a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to dance ballet. As he watched, Harry was astounded to watch the little flag walk past the door to the Room of Requirement three times, and almost fell out of bed when his nemesis’ name disappeared as he entered the Room. Panic welled up inside him. How did Malfoy find out about the Room of Requirement, and what was he doing in there? 

The temptation to jump out of bed and head up there himself was overwhelming, but Harry knew the monitoring charm he could see shimmering faintly around him would alert his father to his movements. Besides, his invisibility cloak was still in the possession of the Potions master, and Harry did not want to walkthrough the hallway, to have to answer all the questions that were sure to be directed at him.

With a groan of frustration, Harry set the map aside, folded so that he could see the seventh floor corridor at a glance. Malfoy was up to something, and whether he was being coerced or doing it voluntarily, Harry’s gut feeling said it was some kind of a plot against his father. 

And Harry was not about to allow anything to happen to Severus Snape.

* * *


	26. Ron's Issues

* * *

Harry tried to concentrate on his classes as the days of October flew by, and he used the excuse of needing a quiet place to study to spend the majority of time in the dungeons. Hermione accompanied him more often than not, but Ron continued to pull away from his two friends, allowing Lavender to monopolize his free time. Frankly, Harry was getting tired of watching to two of them snog unceasingly. Hermione had grown very quiet anytime they happened to be around the pair, and as much as he cared for Ron, Harry found himself increasingly short-tempered with the redhead. 

Without any type of solid proof, the Headmaster had not been able to take any action toward Draco Malfoy for his role in the attempt on Harry’s life. Katie Bell was said to be improving slightly, but had still not regained consciousness. Harry had taken to watching Malfoy diligently, whether it was in person during classes or with the Marauder’s Map, which he had begun to carry in his book bag. As furtively as possible, Harry had made it a point to know where his father was as often as he could, and his newest recurring nightmare was of finding his father’s bloodied and battered body.

As Halloween approached, the wear of worry, huge amounts of homework, managing the Quidditch team, and the lack of sleep were becoming evident in the circles under his eyes and the hollow look of his cheeks. It had been surprisingly easy to avoid his father’s scrutiny, as the older man was immersed in brewing for a wave of autumn colds that had hit the student population particularly hard. Harry had managed to avoid it, even after Hermione had caught it the previous week, and spent three days in bed.

Trudging, cold and filthy, to the dungeons after a spectacularly dismal Quidditch practice, Harry wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to hide under the blankets in his bed. The sight of his father sitting slumped over his desk, his face buried in his hands, stopped him cold just inside the door, and a shiver of fear raced down his spine. With a wave of his hand, Harry sent his broom and book bag into his bedroom and stepped toward the older wizard.

“Papa?” he asked in a soft voice, hoping the man was simply tired and not upset over something.

Severus raised his aching head. The pressure in his chest told him he had succumbed to the virus his students had. He had been particularly concerned about keeping it away from Harry, who seemed to have acquired a weak spot in his chest. Every curse he had been hit with since the attack by Pettigrew seemed to have had directly affected his breathing, and made his chest ache. Even to his feverish eyes, Harry looked pale and tired. Severus frowned, wondering if he was imagining that the boy appeared to have lost weight.

“I…” his voice came out sounding croaky, and Harry was instantly at his side, hand across his forehead.

“Bloody hell, Father, you’re no better than a ruddy first year! How long have you had this?” 

A bemused smile tugged at the Potions master’s mouth as he watched the scowl deepen on his son’s face. “You look like me when you do that,” he managed to rasp out, as he allowed Harry to haul him to his feet and maneuver him into his bedroom.

After helping Severus to change into sleep pants and a t-shirt and tucking him into bed, Harry headed to the rack of medicinal potions that were kept just inside the door of his private lab. Selecting a vial of light blue healing potion, a darker blue potion that eased breathing, and a general analgesic, he returned to the bedroom. His father’s face was deathly pale against the white cotton linens, and Harry laid his hand gently across his forehead, not the least bit surprised to find it hot.

“Here Papa, you need to take these,” Harry said quietly, as he reached to prop the older man’s head up. 

It was a testimony to how bad the Potions master truly felt that he downed the potions Harry gave him without question. Leaving a candle lit next to a goblet of water, Harry headed to the bathroom to shower away the grime from practice. He had substituted Dean Thomas for Katie Bell, which had thrown off the dynamics of the team, and Ron had had a series of particularly spectacular misses during the Chasers’ drills. Heather May had been too embarrassed to return to the team, and Harry had been too busy trying to get everyone else on form to even practice with the Snitch. The Gryffindor – Slytherin game was Saturday, he mused as he let the steaming water loosen the tight muscles in his shoulder, and he would face Draco Malfoy again on the Quidditch pitch.

When he made his way back into Severus’ room, Harry was not surprised to find the man sleeping. His own chest felt tight after flying in the bitter cold air, and he leaned his head on his hand as he watched the steady rise and fall of his father’s chest.

“Harry?” 

Harry jerked awake at the sound of the raspy voice woke him sometime later, and he immediately waved to light up the torch beside the bed. He had no idea how much time had passed. “I’m right here, Papa.” He laid a hand on the pale forehead, and was relieved to find it near normal. “How do you feel?”

“Better, I think,” Severus struggled to sit up, and Harry moved to help him.

They made a trip to the bathroom slowly, and Severus was exhausted by the time he was back in bed. Harry’s move to perch on the chair drew his attention, and he patted the bed beside him. His son slid out of his dressing gown, waved down the light, and carefully crawled under the covers beside the older man. As the teenager settled in, Severus hid a smile, knowing that Harry thought he was doing this to take care of Severus, when the reverse was actually the case. It only took a few minutes of listening to the slight wheeze as his son laid breathing beside him for Severus to rouse himself.

“Harry, will you do something for me?”

“Of course, Papa, what do you need?” 

“I want you to concentrate on your chest during your meditation, and make sure that is completely healed. That curse was very dark, and I believe I can still hear a bit of it when you breathe.”

Harry smiled in the dark, his hand creeping over to loop around his father’s arm; Severus’ concern, even as the older man lay congested and sick, warmed him. He easily began the familiar ritual to relax into his evening meditation, closing his mind and re-enforcing his mental barriers. In the manner his father had been teaching him, he focused his magic and envisioned it enveloping his chest, seeking out anything out of the ordinary and wiping it clean. The bluish-white glow that lit his mind was comforting, but Harry was not sure this was part of his growing ability to see the strands of magic or wishful thinking on his part. Nevertheless, he had to admit that the ache in his chest seemed to ease, and as an afterthought, his hand left his father’s arm and crept up to lay on Severus’ chest. The warm glow of healing magic left his hand as he slid into sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

The Halloween feast was somewhat subdued that year, as news of more attacks and fresh deaths became a daily occurrence. Severus Snape sat at the Head table, putting in the appearance he knew was mandatory, but found his hunger had deserted him. The memory of what had happened on this night so many years ago haunted him still. Sliding his eyes over Harry, where he sat next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table, his lips curled at the corners. Despite the teenager’s protests, Severus was sure his son had done something to mitigate the majority of the cold symptoms he had been suffering from earlier in the week. The Potions master was pleased and relieved that Harry continued to sleep in his bedroom in the dungeons, even if he spent the majority of his time now in the Gryffindor Tower. The comfort of having his son near at night was undeniable, especially in the aftermath of cursed Snitch incident.

It was easy for Severus to interpret the expressions that played over the teenager’s face. Resignation and repugnance warred with each other at the moment, and following the direction Harry was looking, he found Weasley once again devouring his girlfriend as they sat at the table. Disgust at the display had him glancing at Minerva McGonagall, who looked thunderous as she watched the spectacle. Thinking of his own responsibilities, Severus swept his eyes over the Slytherin table, skipping quickly through the younger students who were seated closest to the front, and on to the older students in the rear. 

There were no unexplained absences there: most of the seventh years were eating their way through the puddings as they spoke in low voices. Not that Severus had expected any; the Dark Lord was too sly to require any student loyal to him to attend the Samhain rituals that were sure to take place later that night. The white-blond head of Draco Malfoy caught his attention, a look of disgust curling his lip as Parkinson fawned over him. The cold gray eyes were fixed on the Gryffindor table, in the vicinity of Harry and his friends. A cold shiver raced down Severus’ spine as he saw the way Malfoy obsessively followed the head of unruly raven hair, and he wondered what the missives the boy had received from home truly said. He wanted to know what danger threatened his son.

Harry slammed into their chambers later than normal that evening, obviously agitated. Setting the essay he had been marking to one side, Severus watched him silently as the teenager stomped from one side of the sitting room to the other and back again.

“Is there a problem?” Severus prompted quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry spat out. “Ron Weasley is a bloody prat!”

Severus arched an eyebrow at the language, and was rewarded with a flush of guilt. 

“I’m sorry, Papa, but he is acting like a complete git!” Harry dragged a hand through his hair, rumpling the chin length strands. “He found Ginny and Dean snogging in a corner and exploded at her, calling her all kinds of names.”

“That would seem hypocritical at best,” Severus observed, moving to the tea tray that rested on the low table in front of the fire. 

“I just can’t believe… he pulled his wand on his own sister! What is _wrong_ with him?”

Severus handed Harry a cup of hot chocolate as he sat back in his chair, feeling apprehensive. “I am unsure, but I have seen a marked increase in his aggressiveness as well as his difficulties with anger management.”

Harry sat down and made a visible attempt to calm himself before taking a sip of his cocoa. “I just wish I knew what was going on with him, is all.”

“I could cite the obvious hormonal increase associated with puberty,” Severus said, in an attempt to be helpful.

“Yes, but that just gives him an excuse to act more like a bloody idiot than ever.”

“Language, Mister Potter-Snape,” Severus admonished with a smile, and Harry snorted at him, as they continued to sip in a companionable silence.

hpsshpsshpss

The morning of the Gryffindor - Slytherin Quidditch match dawned crisp but sunny, with a light breeze. The frosty grass crunched under his feet as Harry walked towards the changing rooms with a pale and apprehensive Ron Weasley. The redhead had seemed subdued in the days following the incident with Ginny, but had needed constant reassurance of his Keeper skills.

“At least the weather is good, Ron, that’s showing us a bit of luck,” Harry told him as Hermione hurried down from the castle to join them.

Ron shrugged and did not respond as Hermione greeted them, and Harry stifled the sigh before it could escape. Hermione ignored him, addressing her comments to Harry.

“It seems that Malfoy caught the cold that was going around and is sick in bed. Their top Chaser, Vaisey, is also sick, so they are player the back-up Seeker, a fifth year named Harper, and Urquhart, the new Slytherin captain, is scrambling to find a Chaser!”

The game turned out to be a disappointment for Harry, despite the fact that Ron performed well, saving nine out of the eleven shots at the goals. There was no challenge to snatching the Snitch from Harper, especially after the olive-skinned boy purposely collided with Harry, slamming into him hard enough to nearly topple him from his broom. Pain exploded in his right shoulder as he righted himself, to find Harper there sneering in his face. Zacharias Smith’s cutting commentary washed over him as Harry concentrated on the golden-winged ball that Harper had zeroed in on. Dropping slightly below the younger teen, Harry maneuvered the Firebolt at an upward angle as he saw Harper’s fingers brush the Snitch before he batted his hand out of the way and grabbed it firmly. 

The idea that this Snitch could have been tampered with had crossed his mind, but quickly dissipated when Harper’s hand started to close around his and nothing happened. Harry swerved abruptly towards the stands, not trusting Harper’s reaction to Gryffindor’s victory. The crowd howled when they saw his hand held aloft, the struggling Snitch readily apparent. Sweeping the stands, Harry found and held the onyx eyes that followed his movement proudly, even as the Slytherins around him screamed their disappointment. Flying toward the goals, Harry found himself in the middle of the excited Gryffindor team, all trying to hug him at the same time.

The party was in full swing by the time Harry and Ron arrived in the Gryffindor Common Room. Someone had smuggled in a stash of bottles of butterbeer, one of which was shoved into each of their hands before they were completely through the portrait hole. Hermione was standing just inside waiting for them, and she hugged Harry quickly before taking his hand. Lavender was saving Ron a spot on an old, worn couch, and snuggled close when he sat down. They immediately began to kiss. 

With a sigh, Harry tugged Hermione over to one of the window seats close to the warm fireplace. “So, do you think that Malfoy and that Chaser were really sick?”

“I’m not sure, Harry, but perhaps your father would know.” She leaned on his shoulder comfortably, and Harry hid a wince.

“I would not tell McGonagall if Ginny were sick, I would just put someone in to cover for her. I am not sure that the Heads of House have too much to do with the strategy of the game itself.”

Hermione sighed. The noise level in the room was steadily rising, making casual conversation almost impossible now, and the two sat there companionably for a time. Harry finished his bottle and set it down on the nearest table before grabbing Hermione’s hand. He inclined his head toward the door, wanting nothing more than the quiet of the dungeons at that moment, as his shoulder still throbbed painfully and his head had begun to ache. With a nod, Hermione allowed him to tug her to her feet, and they began to weave their way through the crowd towards the portrait hole.

“Oi, Harry! Where are you going?” Ron’s voice was loud and antagonistic, and Harry turned to see him struggle up from the couch, pushing Lavender away as he did. 

The tone of voice surprised Harry, and he stopped as the redhead made his way over to them. “We are going down to the dungeons…”

“Oh, running down to daddy, Harry? Or should I say, papa?” Ron laughed nastily. “When are you going to grow up, boy?” He jabbed a finger into Harry’s chest. “Can’t you even call the man by a proper name? Papa, ha! That greasy git—”

The empty butterbeer bottle sitting on the table beside Ron shattered and a swirling breeze ruffled Harry’s hair. He could feel his magic rising, trying to give vent to the anger and hurt he felt, and part of him just wanted to let loose, to punish Ron for his hurtful comments. He felt a tug at his hand, and the wide brown eyes of Hermione Granger met his, reminding him where he was, and Harry used all the control his father had taught him to rein in the wild magic.

“Yes, Ron, I am going down to the dungeons to see my Papa,” Harry said quietly, aware that the room had gone silent around them. “I am sorry that you have a problem with what I call my father… I am just glad that I have one.”

“Mister Potter, is there a problem?” Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through the strained silence, and the students turned to find her at the entrance-portrait, the Headmaster standing in the hallway behind her.

“Yes, ma’am, everything is fine. Hermione and I were just leaving.” 

His father met them on the moving staircase as they descended from the seventh floor, and Harry knew that he had felt the burst of his wild magic. The dark eyes raked over his face, and Harry was sure it was pale. The older man put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing briefly before turning and preceding them down the stairs. The staircase stayed perfectly still, and Harry almost snickered at the thought that it too was scared of the feared Potions master to move. The trip to the dungeons was a silent one. To reassure her, Harry enfolded Hermione’s cold hand in his as they came down the marble stairs and turned toward the lower level. The Bloody Baron floated by, inclining his head briefly to his Head of House, a gesture that Severus returned regally. 

A fire blazed in the fireplace, and the sitting room was warm enough that Harry took off his jumper, sliding to the floor in front of the couch in his jeans and long-sleeved pullover. Hermione sat to one side of him, her face showing she was deep in thought, while his father surprised him by sitting on the other. A teapot sat steaming on the low table, and Harry watched blankly as Hermione poured them tea.

. Harry could feel his father’s eyes on him, and shifted slightly, so that his shoulder was leaning against the man. He blew idly across the surface of his hot tea before speaking

“Ron suddenly went off on us coming down here this afternoon, made fun of me calling you Papa,” Harry told him, still staring into the dancing flames. 

“Was there a title of paternity he felt more suitable for you to use?” 

The snarky reply brought a smile to his lips. “Well, now that you mention it, there was something about greasy.…”

“Impertinent brat!” The gentle tone belied the words, and the hand that came up to playfully cuff him in the head settled for a moment to card through his hair, staying there when Harry leaned into the affectionate gesture. “I though Mister Weasley had accepted our relationship, Harry?”

“I thought so too,” Harry answered with a sigh. “Something just seemed to set him off.”

“Professor?” Hermione finally spoke up. “When I was studying Occlumency last year…” She looked at the expressions of disbelief on both of her companions’ faces. “What?”

“Leave it to you to take every opportunity to study a new field. I suppose you have managed to teach yourself how to Occlude as well?”

“Of course I did!” Hermione fairly bristled at what she took as implied insult, old habits dying hard when it came to this man.

Harry stifled a laugh as Severus smiled at the witch. “Indeed, I am impressed.”

Hermione blinked, and Harry could see that she knew the compliment was genuine. “Well, as I was saying, when I was studying Occlumency, one of the texts I read said that there were forms of mind control spells that could be tailored for certain situations. Such as using the Imperius Curse on someone, but having it so that the subject would only react when doing a certain activity.”

Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw his father nod. “That would have been Paul Directus’ book, I believe, and yes, he speaks of a form of the Imperius that sets a certain reaction to a specific activity. It was used in the past with some success on a Quidditch players the team manager wanted to be more aggressive during games.”

“What if the spell is keyed to a word or association?”

“It could work,” Severus said, accepting a refill of his tea, “especially if the reaction is within the spelled person’s normal range of reaction.”

Harry sat up straighter and looked at Hermione. “Someone put that curse on Ron, didn’t they?”

The brown eyes met his, and Harry could see the anger glinting in them. “Yes, I think so, because your father is right, Harry. Ron realized you were happy with him, and he had accepted the relationship. I think someone who knows how to work the spell cursed him.”

“And they did it after Ron reacted so violently when he caught Ginny and Dean in the alcove,” the teenager said darkly as he stood and walked to the hearth, turning back towards the couch. “I bet word got out about the way Ron erupted, and they used that to curse him.”

“He was fine,” Hermione cocked her head to one side, “until you said ‘dungeons’, so I bet that is the trigger, or whatever, for the spell to kick in.”

“A spell that has been adapted to target Harry and me,” Severus mused as he leaned back into the leather, meeting Harry’s eyes. “It would appear to me that Draco Malfoy has been warned that some measurable response to the directives he is receiving is required, or his mother will suffer the consequences.”

Frowning, Harry looked questioningly at his father.

“Do you doubt that the news that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had a tremendous fight is already known throughout the castle?” the Potions master spat out, looking between the two teenagers as he did.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, knowing it was true. “And they will know the fight was over you.”

“Too true, my son. Everyone will believe there is now a division between you, which some will attempt to capitalize on,” Severus said cynically as he watched Harry digest the information. He hoped to hell he was wrong.

* * *


	27. Holiday Traditions

* * *

Severus looked out over the class of mixed Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years and sighed at the insanity of Albus Dumbledore for his practice of mixing Houses. At least this combination was not usually dangerous to each other, with the Ravenclaws generally ignoring the Hufflepuffs. Were it a class of Slytherin and Gryffindor students, there would always be the distinct possibility of them hexing each other, he knew. His eyes swept over the room, watching the Ravenclaws as they gazed into the distance with bored expressions as they precisely stirred the simple healing potion. In contrast, the majority of the Hufflepuffs were concentrating hard on doing the same thing. 

“Please bottle a sample of your potions, then clean up,” Severus snapped out as one of the Ravenclaws glanced at the small Hufflepuff boy beside her contemptuously.

The bell rang to signal the end of the period and Severus ushered the students out, finding a reason to take points from the chit who thought she was better than the small, dark-haired Hufflepuff, who had worked diligently. Refusing to acknowledge that he saw a bit of himself in the boy, the Potions master moved toward the door to his office and beyond that, to his quarters. A light lunch awaited him on the small table, as did his son. Severus stopped as he saw the teenager, engrossed in a book as he shoveled soup into his mouth, and the worry he had just recently pushed to the back of his mind returned full force.

“This is unexpected, Harry. Is everything alright?” Severus asked with a casualness he did not feel as he sat down and shook out a napkin.

Harry looked up with a smile, and nodded. “Yes, just thought I’d have lunch with my father.” The words sounded sincere, but the smile was just a touch too innocent.

“Hmmm, why do I not find that comforting?”

“Well, I did want to discuss something with you…”

“Ah, just as I suspected: an ulterior motive,” Severus said wryly. He allowed himself to relax enough to raise an eyebrow at Harry, who snorted in amusement.

Harry chose to ignore the attempt at dry wit, as he stirred his soup with a spoon. “You think that Malfoy has cast that curse on Ron in an attempt to get at me, don’t you?”

Severus nodded slowlyand accepted the piece of bread that Harry handed him, dipping it into a bowl of steaming beef and vegetable broth. He studied the solemn green eyes that looked at him, seeing in them emotions that six months ago he would have never imagined seeing or wanting to see from the Boy Who Lived. Worry and concern swirled in the viridescent depths, and Severus’ spoon stopped mid-way to his mouth.

“Harry? What is it?” he asked softly.

“I do not think that Malfoy is after me, Papa. I mean, I do think he is trying to cause problems between us and our friends, but I don’t think we are his real target.” 

This surprised Severus, and he took a spoonful of his soup as he mulled it over. It could very well be that Draco Malfoy had received other instructions from the Dark Lord, ones that aimed for a higher goal than bringing him the Boy Who Lived and the traitor. Perhaps there were plans that were larger in scale than their deaths, such as having Draco try to find a way to breech the charms and protective fields that were in place around Hogwarts. Voldemort knew that magical children were precious, and parents would do anything to keep their children safe. If he managed to bring down the wards, the children within the castle walls would be a commodity the Dark Lord could trade in, their lives and their pain for the capitulation of the wizarding community. 

His appetite deserted him at this thought. “If he is searching for a way to bring down the wards, Harry, he will have a hard time doing so. The Headmaster’s protections are only the most recent additions to a millennium of charms and spells that have been added to the castle and grounds since the days of the Founders.” 

Harry leaned forward, his gaze intent on his father’s face. “Then we will just have to watch him, and make sure he doesn’t have the opportunity to mess around with them, Papa! It is obvious that Malfoy does not care who he hurts, or who he curses, and he is not going to let anything get in his way or stop him!”

Severus thought for a moment about what he knew of the dynamics within the Malfoy family, and remembered the unusually strong love that Narcissa had always had for the one and only child she had been able to have. He knew for a fact that Draco may have idolized his father, but he truly loved his mother. Absently eating another spoonful of the hearty soup, Severus wondered at the teenager’s motivation, and whether his mother was under threat of punishment for anything Draco did or failed to do.

“Perhaps you are right, Harry, but we cannot overlook the fact that Draco is young, and has been raised to believe he is required to serve Voldemort.” Severus gestured at his son with his spoon. “Would you not do just about to keep your mother safe, if you were told that her life depended on the success of the task you have been assigned?”

“I…” Harry stumbled over his words, a vision of his mother flashing before his eyes, “I guess I would feel that way, Papa, but what if he just wants to be a good little Death Eater?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Severus said softly. “We can only keep an eye on his activities, and try to prevent any damage. In the meantime, we must be very cognizant of the threat to you by the children of loyal Death Eaters.”

“And Ron,” Harry muttered darkly, not forgetting the incident the night before.

Severus arched an eyebrow in enquiry. “Did something more happen this morning?”

Harry set his spoon down carefully, clearly reining in his anger. “No, not really. Ron is pretty much ignoring me at the moment, but he was a right prat to Hermione this morning.”

Reaching over, Severus patted his arm reassuringly. “The curse will wear off eventually, son, but until it does, I would feel better if you would remain down here with me.”

Smiling, Harry nodded his agreement and picked up his spoon to continue eating his soup. They finished their lunch in a comfortable silence, and Severus allowed himself to think about the approaching holidays. Most wizarding families celebrated a mix of Yule and Christmas traditions, with both Christian and pagan rituals followed to some extent in many of the pureblood families. Severus knew from their Occlumency lessons that Harry had never experienced anything like the few Yule traditions his mother had passed down to him, and he wanted to do that for him this year, as well as give him a Christmas celebration that neither of them had experienced before.

hpsshpsshpss

As the fall days became increasingly cold and blustery, Harry found himself leery of his best friend and almost obsessed with Malfoy. Hermione had threatened to tell his father, as Harry spent every spare moment scanning the Marauders Map in search of Malfoy, but he wasn’t concerned: he discussed his observation with the older man often. Even the blond’s ever present thugs didn’t seem to be able to keep up him, as Harry often watched them pacing the hallway on the seventh floor as if lost and looking for their master. The subject himself seemed pale and thin, Harry thought as he watched Malfoy one night at dinner, and he could not help but wonder what was going through his nemesis’ mind. If he had already taken the Mark, as both Harry and his father believed, why was the pasty little ferret acting at times as if he were scared of his own shadow? Was Malfoy truly worried about his mother if he failed in whatever mission Voldemort had assigned him?

Ron continued to bounce between best friend and hot-tempered aggressor. During the times that Ron reverted back to being Harry’s friend, his behavior was still off, laughing uproariously at the least thing, and laughing the hardest at those things that were an embarrassment to Harry; Colin Creevey’s latest quest for a photograph, his failure to get a hair-color charm correct, and the giggling mass of girls that seemed to follow Harry whenever he was in the Great Hall or common room. Hermione sometimes sat on Harry’s other side, but more often than not she removed herself from the vicinity when Ron and Lavender were around, and Harry became heartily sick of Lavender Brown hanging off of the redhead as if they were joined at the hip.

Harry plodded through the Transfiguration class work that he had to do, looking up from where he lay in front of the blazing fireplace to where his father sat correcting papers at his desk. Hermione had chosen to go with Ginny and Luna to the Ravenclaw girls’ dorms that evening for whatever it was girls did together. He glanced up at the enchanted window, which showed that snow continued to fall steadily in the waning light of late afternoon, and sighed. The weather had turned cold in the past week, the snow starting to fall now in place of the long, dreary days of rain. It made it feel more like the Christmas at least, he reasoned, and sighed again.

Christmas had never been something he looked forward to while living at the Dursleys’, where he had never been allowed to participate in any of the holiday celebrations. Painful memories stirred in his mind; he was reminded how he had wondered why Father Christmas never seemed to be able to find him, yet left Dudley such a large pile of gifts, and the realization that Uncle Vernon had to be right, that Father Christmas did not leave presents for freaks. That pain had been eased somewhat when he learned the truth about Father Christmas at the age of seven, although Aunt Petunia continued to put out gifts for Dudley until long after Harry started at Hogwarts. 

During the ensuing years, Harry had wondered what it would be like to have had a family at the holidays, and what traditions they might have taught him. Would they have greeted the carolers that Uncle Vernon had hated so, turning out the front lights to avoid having to listen to what he called their caterwauling, but Harry really thought it was because he objected to the tradition of giving them money. He had heard stories from others about Yuletide and Boxing Day and the traditions others shared with their families. He stole a glance at his father, who was concentrating on the parchment in front of him. Were there any Snape family traditions? Were there traditions that the Potters had observed? 

As he sat up and stretched his back, he glanced up at the window again. It seemed like a sad commentary on the state of his social life that he was doing homework in the dungeons with father, daydreaming about Christmas, on a Friday afternoon. It was still over an hour until dinnertime, but his stomach rumbled to remind him that he had skipped lunch. When Harry had seen that Hermione was absent from the Gryffindor table and the only available seat was next to Lavender Brown, he had quickly backed out of the Great Hall, foregoing lunch for the peace and quiet of the library. 

Harry stood up and wandered in to the alcove where his father’s desk sat. His dark eyes were intent on the parchment in front of him, large amounts of writing in red ink lining its margins. Curious, Harry leaned against Severus’ arm as he peered down at the essay, only to feel his father stiffen at the contact. Flinching away from the arm that suddenly twitched, Harry looked up at the thin face in time to see the look of irritation that flashed across it, and taking a hurried step back, stumbled on the edge of the rug. He knew he had no business looking at the essay, but had not thought it would make the man angry. Harry knew he had further embarrassed himself by reacting as if his father was Vernon Dursley. Falling, his hand scrabbled for something to grab on to, but came up empty. Just as panic took root in his stomach, long, slender fingers wrapped around his arm. Pulled against the heavy cloth of Severus’ teaching robes, Harry leaned into him, his heart thumping in his chest, feeling familiar arms slide around him and steady him. 

“I am sorry, Harry, I had forgotten where I was. I was startled when you appeared at my side. I am afraid some old traits linger,” his father told him quietly. 

Harry nodded, still a bit ashamed at having such a strong reaction to a cross look, and kept his head down. “I should not have startled you like that; I guess I had been thinking of the Dursleys and overreacted. I just wanted to know if you wanted tea.”

“That is an excellent idea.” Severus turned him away slightly, an arm still around his shoulders, and flicked his wand at the papers that littered his desk. 

Harry watched as the papers shuffled themselves into neat and orderly piles before looking up, the emotionally needy child in him showing in the emerald depths as he stayed close to his father. “Could we have some chocolate cake with tea, Papa?”

Seating them both on the couch, Severus summoned Dobby, who was delighted as always to do something for ‘his’ Harry Potter. Grimacing at the enthusiastic display, Harry was relieved to find his father appeared amused at his discomfort, and with a sheepish grin, he settled into the soft leather of the couch.

“Why were you thinking of the Dursleys, Harry?” The dark eyes watched him intently.

“Actually, I was thinking of the holidays, Papa, and could not help remember the years before Hogwarts.” _The years with the Dursleys_ , he meant, but could not bring himself to say. “I was also wondering if you knew any traditions that mum and dad would have had for Christmas, and if you will show me Snape traditions?”

Harry looked at his father eagerly, almost holding his breath as he saw the blank look on his father’s face. Trying not to be disappointed as the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length, he was about to dismiss the whole notion when Dobby popped back in with a loaded tea tray. Keeping his eyes on the cup he was handed, Harry started when a warm hand rested on his arm, spilling a bit of tea in the saucer.

“My father was not one to celebrate anything except a good bottle of scotch, , Harry, but my mother did pass on to me some Yule traditions that I would like to share with you,” Severus told him quietly, patting his arm absently. “I do not know much about Christmas except what I have learned from Albus while at Hogwarts, as my father’s disposition did not lend itself to garnering invitations from other family members who celebrated the holidays.”

There was a quality to the deep voice that spoke to what Harry was feeling, and he flashed back on some of the memories he had witnessed during Occlumency lessons last term. “It sounds to me as if you had as much fun as I did growing up, Papa.” He looked up, ashamed that he had brought up such bad memories for Severus.

The onyx eyes met his, and a soft smile played around the Potions master’s lips. Lifting a hand he brushed a strand of hair back from Harry’s cheek. The simple gesture warmed Harry, and he returned the smile.

“I think that we should ask Remus down for tea tomorrow, and see if he remembers any of the traditions the Potters celebrated. I seem to remember he spent several holidays with James and your godfather.”

Harry nodded, allowing an answering smile to surface. “We can always make our own traditions, too, Papa, you and I.”

“Too right, my son,” Severus agreed as he handed him a slice of chocolate cake.

hpsshpsshpss

Over the next week, Harry busied himself with studying for exams, putting Yule Logs, Wassail bowls, and Boxing Day out of his mind for the time being. Hermione tried to help by relating some of her own family traditions, her eyes shining as recalled a childhood of warm, loving memories, but this just left Harry aching for something he’d never had. Feeling the need to distance himself, he immersed himself again in the task of Malfoy watching, following the ferret as he moved around the castle. With Harry still occupying his room in the dungeons, he was able to track the blond’s movements, mainly between the Room of Requirement and the second floor girl’s lavatory. 

The _Daily Prophet_ came each morning filled with news of the overnight attacks, with Death Eaters and Dementors blamed for everything from murderous attacks to missing pets. Harry did not know why he even bothered to look at the headlines, most of the reports were overblown depictions anyway. But there seemed to be no escaping the terror: someone read the headlines aloud during every meal in the Great Hall. Sideways glances were directed at Harry as he ate with his head lowered, muttered phrases drifted to his ears about the Chosen One, which was the new title he had been stuck with by the excuse for a newspaper. 

His nights were increasingly restless. Harry could feel that Voldemort was making plans for something, but had Occluded his mind to keep Harry from learning them. He could still feel the burst of high emotion, but the bastard had been particularly careful since Harry had rescued his father from the Death Eaters in the aftermath of the custody hearing. Knowing how his father worried about him, Harry made sure that his mental barriers were sturdy and meditated each night before bed, not giving in to the temptation to open himself up.

The feast to celebrate the start of the holidays finally came; exams were over and the Hogwarts Express would leave in the morning for London, taking students home to their families for the holidays. Harry knew from the tea conversations between his father and the Headmaster that almost all the students were going home this year, because parents were concerned over the recent series of attacks on Muggle-born families. Ministry owls bearing black-edged envelopes notifying a student of a lost family member had become another familiar sight to Harry and his fellow students. In an intense discussion that Harry was sure he was not supposed to hear, Remus Lupin had argued heatedly with Severus over offering the Wolfsbane Potion to the werewolf clans that Remus had been keeping in touch with, hoping to sway them to the Light side. It seemed that the majority of the clans were happier losing their sanity at the full moon, using that as an excuse for their vicious and gruesome behavior, and Remus knew the majority of them would turn down the potion. 

Allowing himself to be dragged out of the Great Hall by a laughing Ron Weasley, Harry went up to the Gryffindor common room to join the upper years in their traditional celebration. Lavender latched onto Ron fiercely, glaring at Harry as if he had tried to steal him away from her, much to the redhead’s obvious disgust. Spying Hermione in the corner near the fireplace where she sat talking to Neville, Harry moved over to join them, sinking down into the rug at his friend’s feet. His eyes tracked Ron as was pulled into a corner and pounced on by his girlfriend, who seemed to alternate between snogging him senseless and screaming at him. Harry shook his head at the sights, turning his head to scan the room slowly, stopping again at a knot of fourth-year girls who seemed to be watching him with keen interest, something especially feral in the eyes of Romilda Vane.

A familiar hand brushed through his hair, and he looked up to see concern in Hermione’s expressive eyes. “Watch out for that one, Harry. She is constantly talking about how much she would like to be your girlfriend.”

Harry nodded and shifted closer. Hermione’s hand continued stroking through his hair in a comforting gesture as he contemplated the complexities of being the Boy Who Lived. Neville watched him with a touch of amusement and Harry rolled his eyes, making them all laugh. 

“Oi, Harry!” Ron leaned down and pressed an open butterbeer into his hand.

Watching his friend as Ron turned without a word and walked away, Harry shook his head at how inconsiderate his friend had become. Neville already had a bottle in his hand, but Hermione had nothing. Holding the bottle up and gesturing, Harry handed it to her. Accepting it, Hermione took a drink before handing it back with a smile.

“We can share it, Harry,” she said, kissing the top of his head as she did. Neither of them paid attention to the eyes watching them.

Harry took a long pull from the bottle, then settled back against her leg, holding the bottle where the witch could reach it, and turned to watch to antics going on in the room. He shared the bottle of butterbeer with Hermione, feeling bad because she insisted he drink the majority of it. Over the next hour, Ron was pulled back across the room by Lavender every time he wandered their way. Harry could swear that the girl was jealous, but he wasn’t sure if it was of him or Hermione. The noise level in the room steadily grew and Harry’s head began to throb, his scar prickling like it hadn’t done in weeks. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Harry had to steady himself with a hand on Hermione’s shoulder as the room tilted wildly. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, only to make it ache more. When Hermione looked at him anxiously, Harry reasoned that his face must have gone pale, and he smiled to reassure her. With a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder, Harry moved away from her and toward the portrait hole, weaving a bit unsteadily through the crowd of students. Harry couldn’t believe that a single bottle of butterbeer had made him tipsy, and wondered if someone had slipped in some kind of firewhisky. 

Slipping out into the corridor, Harry stumbled a bit as he made his way down the staircase, keeping a firm grip on the rail. Trailing a hand along the cool stone walls, he allowed his feet to direct him down the now familiar path to his father’s rooms. A flash of white-blond hair disappearing down the second floor corridor caught his eye as he made his way across the Entrance Hall, but he was in too much pain to care. It was almost a relief to step inside their door and find the sitting room empty. Somewhere in the increasing pain he felt a spike of emotion that wasn’t his. Staggering into his bedroom, Harry collapsed on to the bed and allowed the darkness to take him.

_Pulsating colors swirled in the darkness around him, making the pain in his head so intense he thought it would burst along the line of his scar. A room solidified out of the shifting purple and blues, its musty, damp smell familiar to him as Harry pried his eyes open to see large dark chamber lit by low torches around the eaves. A knot of people stood in a semi-circle around the raised platform where Harry stood, a trembling female with white-blonde hair kneeling at his feet. Anger resonated through him at the whimpering witch, and he flicked his wand at her lazily._

“Crucio,” _he held it on the woman, amused by the thrashing limbs and bowed back, knowing Lucius would be appalled at his wife’s loss of dignity. “Enough, Narcissa, I will not tolerate any more delays! All the rest of my plans have fallen into place nicely. Fenrir’s clans are in position around Hogwarts, as are those who will help in our endeavor. Why is it your son has not accomplished his task?”_

_“He has located the entrance to the Chamber as you described, Master, but he is not a Parselmouth, and is unable to open it!”_

“Crucio!” 

_He held it for several seconds. “Young Malfoy was given options, and knows your life hangs in the balance, Narcissa. Surely he does not fear Potter or his friends?” The scarlet eyes flared as he looked down on the crumpled form. “He will have a way into the castle by my deadline, or you both will be dead!”_

Harry’s scar seared at the anger he felt backwashed through the bond, and he used every bit of strength he could muster to close the link between him and Voldemort. Ignoring the brilliant swirl of colors that still made his mind feel foggy, Harry concentrated, focusing his energy on replacing the barrier the film of color seemed to have erased, sinking into his mind and tuning out the screams he reverberating in his ears.

hpsshpsshpss

Severus ushered Albus Dumbledore into his sitting room, continuing their quiet discussion of the Horcruxes that Albus was tracking down. The first, a heavy ring made of old gold, sat in a stasis field in the Headmaster’s private study. The temptation had been great to pick up the ring and examine it, but both men knew that Tom Riddle would have layered the ring with any number of hexes and curses, and neither would take the chance. The Potions master felt that Harry should be allowed to look at the ring, to see if he could detect an aura that could lead them to the other Horcruxes Albus was sure Voldemort had made.

The screams that erupted from his son’s room chilled Severus, and he raced into the darkened room, waving up the torches as he did. Harry thrashed on the bed, his hands clamped tight to his forehead. Climbing onto the bed, Severus tried to stop the frantic motions, but Harry seemed have all his focus turned inward. Prying Harry’s hands from his head, he gasped at the sight of the red, inflamed scar on his forehead. He tried to speak to his son quietly every time the screams abated with little success. They finally subsided into whimpers as Harry turned to bury his face in the black robes.

“Severus?” 

Albus Dumbledore spoke quietly from the doorway, and Severus looked up to see a small piece of parchment in his hand. The expression on the elderly wizard’s face was one of outrage.

“I have a note from Minerva, who says that Miss Granger shared a bottle of butterbeer with Harry earlier this evening that was apparently tampered with. From the symptoms, she believes it was some type of hallucinogenic potion.”

“Bloody hell,” Severus exploded, causing Harry to jump and cower away. “A potion of that nature would compromise Harry’s Occlumency barriers.” He leaned down to gather his son back into his lap.

The Headmaster stepped to the side of the bed, taking in the blank expression on the teenager’s face, the eyes now open but staring unseeingly at his father’s robes. “Severus, some of these potions can cause lasting damage. We need to know which one was used and by whom.”

“Start with Weasley,” Severus snarled, unconsciously rocking his son back and forth, “this seems to go along with his recent behavior toward both Harry and Hermione.” 

His fingers swept over the swollen scar as he studied his son’s deathly pale face. As a Potions master, he was well versed in the various potions that would cause the drinker to experience hallucinations, and this reaction was much more than that. If he had learned anything about this boy over the summer, it was that he was incredibly strong magically, but extremely protective of those he cared about. If Harry had lowered his shields while under the influence of whatever potion he had been given, it was highly possible that Voldemort could have made an attempt to possess Harry again, and even now his son was attempting to fight him off.

“I believe Harry is already fighting for his life, Albus.”

* * *


	28. Auras

* * *

Albus Dumbledore reached a hand toward the comatose teenager held tightly in his father’s arms. “Let me hold him, Severus. You are more likely to be successful in retrieving him.”

Severus knew what his mentor was suggesting, and he resisted for several heartbeats, only conceding when Harry again arched as if under the Cruciatus Curse. With a nod, he allowed Albus to slide in behind Harry and turn him so that he faced Severus, his head braced against the Headmaster’s chest.

Wand in hand, Severus cupped his son’s chin and tilted his head up. “Harry!” he called sharply. The emerald eyes opened fractionally, long enough to allow the older wizard to whisper, “ _Legilimens!_ ” 

Glaringly bright colors swirled around the edge of Harry’s consciousness as Severus eased into his mind. Remembering clearly the pain he had caused during their Occlumency lessons, he skirted the edges as he looked for a soft spot. A blood-red strand of color, very unlike the swirling hues, breeched the surface of the barriers, and Severus pushed gently at the indentation where it disappeared deeper into Harry’s mind. A sponge-like membrane gave way at his touch, and he slipped inside, following the pulsing strand as it led toward a softly glowing golden light. 

_‘Harry?_

_‘Papa? Too bright, Papa, colors hurt….’_ The glow ebbed, darkening at the edges.

 _‘There was a potion in your butterbeer, son, it should wear off soon.’_ Severus idly wondered what he looked like to the teenager as he moved slowly toward the glow. Waves of apprehension washed over him as he drew near. _‘What is it that frightened you, Harry?’_

_‘Voldemort, Papa, he…’_

Severus tried to comfort his son, picturing himself embracing the teenager. _‘Can you show me, Harry?’_

After a brief hesitation, the glow spread, engulfing Severus and showing him the scene within the dark chamber, the swirling colors always at the periphery of memory. When he felt the pain Harry was suffering through the half-closed link to the Dark Lord’s mind, along with the disorientation of the hallucinogen and the swirling colors, Severus knew he had to help the frightened teenager. Extending his own shields, he coaxed his son closer, enveloping him in his own glowing magic, allowing their consciousness to blend, countering the effects of the drug. Grasping at the life-line, he could feel Harry steady himself, and then together they strengthened his barriers. Severus was surprised by the raw power he felt flowing through him as they repaired the damage the potion had caused. 

Carefully, Severus withdrew from Harry’s mind, surprised to find himself sprawled over both Albus’ and Harry’s legs, his body feeling completely drained. He pushed himself to one side, crawling up to lay his head on the pillow next to Harry. The green eyes opened slightly, and a hand stretched out between them until Harry gripped the sleeve of his robe before they fluttered closed again. A flash of white and a peculiar clucking sound told Severus that Poppy Pomfrey had been called to the room, and he watched as a vial of liquid the color of mashed peas was tipped into Harry’s mouth. He frowned as he tried to place the potion.

“The potion that was poured into the butterbeer Hermione and Harry shared was laced with muscimol,” the mediwitch said grimly.

“And that potion is to counter the allergic reaction to the fungus _Amanita muscaria_ ,” Severus said softly, before dread hit him. “Poppy, I am allergic to that mushroom!”

The matron nodded. “As is your son, Severus, which is why he had such a profound reaction to a mild, naturally-occurring hallucinogen.” 

Anger flared in Severus as he struggled to sit up. “It does not naturally occur in butterbeer!”

The firm hand of the Headmaster gently pushed him back down onto the pillow, and with a wave of his wand, both Severus and Harry were in their pajamas and tucked under the bedding. 

“We are looking into the substance used, Severus, and how it might have gotten there. We will deal with the culprit. In the meantime, you can either remain here with your son or I will allow Poppy to move you both to the hospital wing.”

The usually twinkling blue eyes were hard, and Severus subsided. Then the vision Harry had witnessed surfaced. “Albus, the reaction Harry had caused him to push into the Dark Lord’s mind, and he witnessed him torturing Narcissa Malfoy. Apparently Draco is supposed to be finding a way around the wards in order to allow Fenrir Greyback and his clan into Hogwarts. The boy seems to be trying to get into the Chamber of Secrets.”

A grim look stole over Dumbledore’s face, and he nodded sharply. “Thank you, Severus, I will look into it.”

With a sigh, Severus turned his head to look at his son’s pale face, and allowed sleep to overtake him, even as something unsaid tugged at his memory. His sleep was restless; vibrant, swirling colors haunted him, and more than once he woke to stare at Harry’s still profile until exhaustion once more pulled him down. Finally, Severus slid his hand carefully onto his son’s chest. The slow, even rise and fall reassuring him, he was able to sleep.

hpsshpsshpss

A gentle hand softly stroked through his hair, the gesture familiar and reassuring as it pulled Harry from sleep. His head ached across the temples, and his scar prickled mildly as he became aware of his surroundings. Memory flooded back: the party, Hermione, the butterbeer. Harry attempted to sit up, only to find a restraining hand on his shoulder, and a larger hand resting on his chest. Bushy brown hair came into his line of sight as one hand cupped the back of his head and tilted it up to pour a swallow of cool water into his mouth.

“Hermi’ne?” Harry managed to force out.

“Shhh, I am here, Harry, and I am fine. You are the one who turned out to be allergic to the twins’ latest gag!” The witch smiled at him, but Harry thought her face looked pale. “Madam Pomfrey said that your father is allergic to the same ingredient, and that was why she had the antidote on hand.”

Taking another sip of water, Harry turned his head, making out the distinct profile on the pillow beside him. “Poor Papa,” he sighed, “I just keep giving him more to worry about.”

A warm hand cupped his cheek and brought his face back toward Hermione. “I think he would rather worry about you than have you worry about him, Harry.” She tilted her head slightly, her eyes darting between the two of them. “It is amazing how much you are actually alike, you know.”

“You mean stubborn, ill-tempered, and critical?” Harry answered sarcastically.

“Well,” Hermione smiled warmly, “there is that, but I was thinking more about how deeply you care, how insecure you both tend to be, as well as tenacious, protective, and courageous to a fault.”

“Oh,” Harry said, his lips curving up in an answering smile, at a loss for anything else to say.

“Thank you, Miss Granger, I do believe you have made him blush,” added the Potions master in a sleep-roughened voice. Harry felt the hand on his chest press gently.

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

“Harry,” Severus sighed as he raised himself up on his elbow, “had you done something wrong, I would be reassured, but it is not the first time, nor likely the last, that I will likely have cause to worry about you.”

Harry grinned at his father, translating the Snape-speak into English. “I love you too, Papa!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the interaction between the two males as she laughed, causing both of them to raise identical eyebrows questioningly, which just made her laugh harder. A smile crept over Severus Snape’s face as he watched Harry chuckle softly, relieved to hear that the potion slipped into his drink had been a product of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes instead of a malevolent plan to harm the teenager. Ronald Weasley would surely experience the wrath of his Head of House and his mother, both formidable witches whom Severus himself would rue offending.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry exchanged goodbyes with Hermione and a subdued and solo Ron Weasley in the courtyard near the stone entrance steps, a dull headache still throbbing at the base of his skull. A furious Minerva McGonagall, who had issued a scathing lecture and a month’s worth of detentions, had confiscated the balance of the WWW Aurora Borealis Party Potion the night before. 

“Mum says she is going to have Mad-Eye check me for Dark curses during the Yule cleansing ritual,” the redhead muttered, dragging the toe of his trainer on the snow-covered flagstone. 

Hermione met Harry’s eyes over their friend’s shoulder, and the pair shared a look of relief. If there were any residual Dark curses on Ron, no matter how subtle, the fanatical retired Auror could surely detect them. Albus Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey both had covertly checked Ron after the incident last night, but had been unable to locate anything. Punching the taller teenager’s arm lightly, Harry refrained from asking where Lavender was; he was just happy to enjoy this interlude with his two best friends. When he hugged Hermione tightly, Harry saw Ron’s eyes widen; they rounded even more when he leaned down to kiss Hermione warmly before turning to escort her down the steps toward the waiting carriages. 

The thestral pulling the next carriage shook his head as Harry helped Hermione inside, staring with eerie glowing eyes before it nudged him with its nose. With a sad smile, Harry stroked the animal’s fur gently. As he thought of the frantic trip to London, the image of his godfather’s gaunt face materialized in his mind. The horse-like animal shook its head, pressing its nose into Harry’s hand briefly before moving down the drive toward Hogsmeade Station, Hermione waving frantically out of the window at him the entire way. The sadness lingered as he watched the line of carriages disappear through the gates flanked by the flying boars, down to where he could see the steam rising from the Hogwarts Express. 

“Harry?”

The quiet voice identified the presence at his side as Remus Lupin, and Harry turned slightly to smile up at him through the lightly falling snow. “Hi, Professor.”

“It is officially winter break, Harry, so please call me Remus.” The warm amber eyes crinkled at the corners as the last of the Marauders smiled down at him. “Your father asked me to find you, as we need to prepare for the solstice.”

“The solstice?” Harry asked, as he allowed the taller man to direct him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Today is the Winter Solstice, Harry, the start of the Yule celebrations that go back to the Druids and beyond,” Remus told him as they crossed into the Entrance Hall. 

“The Druids?” Harry allowed himself to be stirred towards the dungeons.

“For the Druids, ancient Romans, and even further back in pagan rituals, the Winter Solstice was celebrated as the return and renewal of the light, after the darkness of the winter.” Remus was in professor mode, and Harry listened avidly. “I understand you have been reading up on Christmas and Yule traditions, so you are familiar with the reasons behind burning the Yule log, decorating an evergreen tree, and the significance of holly and mistletoe.”

Harry nodded as they reached the door of the rooms he shared with his father, thinking of the statement Ron had made. He stopped as looked up at the sandy-haired man, his head cocked questioningly.

“Ron mentioned that his mum was going to have Mad-Eye Moody check him for Dark curses during their cleansing ritual,” Harry said thoughtfully, “but I didn’t come across anything about that kind of ritual in my reading.”

“There is a purification ritual or renewal ceremony that is done by many magical families, Harry, although I think it is more the pure-bloods that term the ceremony a cleansing rite. Most families that I am familiar with do a ceremonial renewal at sunset on the night of the Winter Solstice, as James’ family did.”

The door opened as Harry placed his hand on the knob, but Remus made no move to follow him inside. “Severus said to shower and dress, and then meet him at the side door in an hour, Harry.” The amber eyes crinkles as Lupin smiled again. “And I will see you later.”

Harry was not sure what his father had planned, but he was looking forward to finding out. Hurrying through his normal bathroom routine, he had to smile as he thought of the gifts he had ordered for his friends. Harry had initially been disappointed that he would not be able to go shopping in Hogsmeade with the other students, but after the series of incidents that had happened he knew how worried Severus would be if he had tried to slip out. Harry was not about to put anyone else’s life in danger with any inconsiderate adventures on his part. Hermione had shown him how to request catalogs from the various shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and they had hidden in his bedroom to pick out Christmas gifts. At a lost to what to give his father, Harry had pored over potions supply catalogs and apothecary order lists, desperate to find just the right gift.

Rubbing a towel over his damp hair, the teenager made his way into his bedroom, stopping just inside the doorway. Lying neatly arrayed on his bed was a set of soft dove-gray robes, as well as trousers of the same color, an incredibly soft white jumper, socks and underclothing, all brand new. Draping the damp towel over the chair, Harry picked up a small leather journal that sat next to the clothing, smiling as he saw his initials in gold on the front cover. There was a picture of a Western Diamondback rattlesnake, like the one he had befriended in California, writhing in one corner and a golden Snitch in the other. The detail was so intricate that Harry could see each rattle on the snake’s tail, and he smiled as the tongue flicked out as if tasting the air.

Opening the cover, he could see an inscription inside the front cover in his father’s spidery script:

> _To Harry, my beloved son, lost to me for so long, but given back by the most generous woman I could ever claim as a friend, Lily Evans Potter, your beautiful mum. No matter what the outside world thinks of you, you will always be just my Harry. You have added true meaning to my life and given me a reason to push on. I am immensely proud of you, Harry.  
>  I love you, son, Papa   
> Yule 1996_

There was a post script at the bottom:

> _For your first Christmas, which Lily insisted be celebrated, I gave you a toy cauldron filled with miniature implements. You promptly tried to eat each and every one of them. I hope that is not the case this Christmas. SS_

Harry grinned as he sat the journal aside, warmth blossoming in his chest at the words his father had written. His fingers stroked over the soft jumper, then he began to dress quickly, in anticipation of the beginning of the Yule celebration. He knew that sunset on this day came before four in the afternoon, and traditionally honey, figs, pastry, and spiced apple cider were served for tea. Each of the foods represented something to the ancient pagans, and signified renewal as the sun began to stay in the sky longer each day. It would have been enough, Harry thought, to know they had lived through the darkest part of the winter, and that spring was on its way. He brushed a hand down the front of his new robes. The heavy drape of the velvet cloth made him feel secure until he thought of Severus waiting for him as he dawdled.

The sun had started its descent by the time Harry stepped out the door to find his father waiting for him with a smile of welcome. The Potions master was dressed in a set of identical robes, and it delighted Harry that he was wearing something other than his traditional black for this special ceremony. His father put a hand on his shoulder and studied his face for long enough to make the teenager squirm.

“Did your friends get off all right, Harry?”

“Yes, Papa.” Harry knew he was asking more about Ron’s demeanor than anything. “Ron and Hermione rode in a carriage together, and Ron said his mum was going to have Mad-Eye Moody do the cleansing on him.”

“Good,” Severus answered darkly, “maybe it will cause him sufficient discomfort that he will be more cautious of his affiliations in the future.”

Harry shook his head in mock disbelief. “Poor Ron is just a victim of circumstance, Papa.”

“As you say, son,” the older man replied as he guided Harry toward a patch of evergreens near their summer picnicking spot, “but it would not be unseemly to continue to be cautious around Mr. Weasley for the time being.”

Rolling his eyes at the snarky tone, Harry walked beside his father, skirting around one tree and stepping out into a circle of trees where a break in the line faced the setting sun. With a gasp, Harry saw that the Headmaster stood on the far side of the circle, with Professor McGonagall on his left side, with Remus Lupin at her far side, and Poppy Pomfrey beside him. There was another man, clad as everyone was else in dove-gray, standing to the right of Albus Dumbledore, turned away from Harry as they entered the circle. 

“Ah, here is Harry now.” The Headmaster smiled as he indicated the teenager.

The man turned toward him, and Harry got a glimpse of a round face and a salt-and-pepper beard before he was engulfed in a bear hug.

“Harry!” a very distinctive voice boomed in his ear.

“George!” Harry cried with delight, returning the older man’s hug enthusiastically.

As he stepped back, the teenager felt his father’s hands on his shoulders, and a warm feeling burst from his chest. Severus had invited the American wizard to share Christmas with them the day they had left Lucas Valley, and Harry was delighted to see him. The clear blue eyes examined him from head to toe, twinkling almost as much as the Headmaster’s.

“You are looking well, my young friend. How are you really?” the man asked him quietly, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

His mind flashing back to the Ministry custody hearing and everything that had happened in the interim, Harry glanced over his shoulder, meeting his father’s eyes in a silent exchange before turning back.

“I am doing well, sir, although there have been a couple of minor incidents since we left your house,” Harry said carefully, grinning at the look of disbelief that flitted over the man’s face.

“Right, minor incidents my ass,” the American muttered as Dumbledore cleared his throat delicately.

“If we can all step back into the circle, we will begin the Yule cleansing ritual.”

Harry moved back to stand next to George, his father beside him, and glanced up at the Headmaster. 

“Thank you for agreeing to be part of this celebration of the Winter Solstice, signifying the start of the Yule celebration. There are many different traditions that remain with us to this day, traditions that can trace their origins back to the Druids, the Celts, to ancient Rome and Babylon. Many of these traditions have a deeper meaning than those we attach to them today, one of them being that the Winter Solstice was the celebration of the renewal of the sun. From this day until the Summer Solstice in six months, the length of the day slowly increases, day by day. As a part of the celebration for making it through the short days of autumn and winter, the Yule time was used to honor those things we held dear, peace, faith, love, and joy.” 

Albus Dumbledore gestured at the slowly sinking sun. “One of the rituals common among the ancients of this land was a ceremony to cleanse the body and soul of Darkness and evil. Severus?”

The Potions master took a step forward, and Harry watched him as he silently acknowledged each of the people standing in the circle with a nod. “The Potter and Prince families kept a few of the ancient traditions and blended them with the more modern Christmas celebrations, while the Evans family embraced Christmas in its entirety.”

The dark eyes swept the assemblage, and Harry could see warmth and affection there that not many were privileged to see. “I have much to be thankful for this year, with the return of my son, and surviving being exposed as a spy. Each one of you here is considered by both Harry and me as part of our family, and that is why I asked you to join us today.” The dark eyes flicked toward the Headmaster. “Albus has agreed to act in the role of elder of the family and will cast the cleansing spell.”

The Headmaster stepped into the center of the circle; facing the setting sun, bathed in its last rays, he waved his slender wand at himself. The Latin incantation sounded like a pleasant singsong chant, and Harry was taken by surprise as a bright bluish-white light flared from the end of his wand and engulfed the wizard. His gray robes seemed to sparkle white, then the light faded and the robes changed to a glimmering golden color. Pivoting, Dumbledore repeated the incantation on Minerva McGonagall, whose glowing light cast a warm sky blue aura to the white light before her robes also turned a sparkling gold. The mediwitch’s aura was pale amber, and Remus’, Harry saw, was closer to a pale yellow. 

When the spell was cast on his father, Harry was surprised to see that the aura that began to surround him was blue like that of the Headmaster. As he watched, Harry saw the white light flare blood-red as it encompassed Severus’ right arm where Nagini had struck him. The incantation changed as Dumbledore brought his wand down sharply, flicking it away from the arm as if to draw the evil out of it. With a flare of brilliant white, the red disappeared and the pale blue aura settled, changing his father’s robes to gold. Harry was relieved, knowing without being told that the red was the residual Dark magic in the wound. He stiffened slightly in apprehension when the Headmaster turned to him.

Severus relaxed as the sharp pain that had run through his arm disappeared with the red light. Albus turned toward Harry, and Severus could see his son go rigid as the incantation began. The light from the wand enveloped the teenager, who immediately grimaced in pain, and his head and chest were haloed in deep burgundy. A gasp from Poppy Pomfrey confirmed that this color represented an active Dark spell, unlike the residual Darkness that had just been removed from his arm. The elder wizard took a step closer, the incantation changing as he manipulated the ancient spell to expel the curses. The deep red color wavered for several minutes, and Severus felt the pain emanating from his son as if it were his own. He frowned, trying to think of the possible origin of the spells. 

A sharp pain deep in his chest startled him, and Severus saw a flicker of something on his son’s face. Was this the parental empathy he had heard some parents speak of? Or was this the result of the deep mind link he had shared with Harry the night before? There was always the danger in teaching someone else Occlumency to the degree they had, a danger that bonds would form. Severus had to wonder if this was exacerbated by multiple instances of being in each other’s minds for the past year. His eyes never left the stoic face haloed in the red-tinged light, and he willed his strength and his magic to somehow fortify his son. Dumbledore flicked his wand up and back once more before the red finally snapped, and Harry was bathed in a flare of pure white light. 

Severus took a step toward the teen and caught him as his knees buckled, dumbstruck by the significance of that flash. Holding Harry steady, they watched together as George went through the cleansing ritual without a problem, his aura flashing pale green. Stepping back into the circle, Albus nodded at him, and Severus allowed Harry to stand on his own. He looked around the circle again; all of the now gold robes glowed iridescently in the last rays of the setting sun. His thoughts went to his mother, to all she had taught him as a small child, and Severus stepped forward.

“We seven gather here tonight to welcome the start of another cycle of the sun, a time of renewal for the earth. It is a time that we wish goodwill and peace to each other, and our hope for the coming year to bring peace, and hope to our world. With faith and perseverance toward our goal of defeating the Darkness, we will all once again have love, joy, and wonder in our daily lives. It is with humility and honesty that I thank you for the love and care you have given my son and myself in the past; you are family to us.”

Severus wove the traditional words of good will into his statement of thanks, remembering the few times his mother had carried out the ceremony with him in secret, defying his father’s adamant objections to what he called ‘heathen rituals’. The traditional foods waited for them in his chambers, figs, honey, ham, pastry, and a Yule cake, along with small baskets he had made for each of their guests, with the traditional gifts of candles, coins, and a sprig of mistletoe wrapped in holly. When he and Harry were alone later, he would explain each and every item, and why it had meaning to one part of his family or another, and tell him more about his grandmother.

“If you will, please join Harry and me in our rooms for a small celebration of family and the Winter Solstice.” 

They moved back down the private hallway to the sitting room in silence. Harry was amazed to find the small table they used to eat on loaded with delicious food, with flagons of what smelled like apple cider and a delightful looking cake as pudding. There were several bunches of holly leaves, mistletoe, and evergreen boughs hung around the room, over the doorways and the hearth. As the others moved toward the table, his father took hold of Harry’s arm and, with a tug, pulled him to his chest. Harry smiled as he buried his face in the wonderfully soft robes at the older man’s throat, a warm feeling spreading through him as a kiss was pressed into his hair.

“Idiot child, you are standing under the mistletoe,” the silky voice chided him gently, before turning serious. “How do you feel, Harry?”

Harry stayed where he was for a moment, savoring the feeling of being loved and protected, before he took half a step back. Looking up, he met the worried obsidian eyes and nodded.

“I feel fine, I think.” He frowned as he made a mental assessment of his body. “Not quite as tired as I felt earlier, and my headache has gone away.” 

Severus pushed him to arms length, and examined his face minutely. “We know when you acquired the spell on your chest, but do you remember when you might have been cursed the second time?”

Harry shook his head, trying to think back to when his head had started to bother him. “I think it was about the time I touched that cursed Snitch that I noticed I was getting headaches, but I just thought it was because I was, um, worried about things.”

Silently cursing the circumstances that dumped such concerns on the shoulders of a boy, Severus nodded in understanding. As Harry took a step closer, as if to comfort Severus, a hand settled gently on his shoulder; Severus accepted the hug as he turned his head to acknowledge his mentor’s presence. Over Albus’ shoulder, he could see Poppy and Minerva pouring tea, and George and Remus quietly watching the interaction. They had all seen what he had during Harry’s cleansing, that flash of pure white light.

“I believe that the curse was cast prior to the term starting, probably while you were escaping from Voldemort’s dungeons in August, Severus,” the headmaster said quietly. “The amount of Dark power in that curse was such that it could only have been cast by a Dark wizard of Voldemort’s stature. It was a variation of the Imperius Curse that we found cast on Ronald Weasley recently.”

Severus’ unconsciously tightened the arm wrapped around Harry’s shoulders and frowned. “Are you telling me that Harry has been fighting against a curse of this magnitude for _three months?_ ”

Albus inclined his head slightly in affirmation. 

The enormity of it was hard for even an ex-Death Eater to fathom. Severus, more than anyone in that room, knew the strength of the Dark Lord’s power, and the thought that his son not only had successfully resisted a curse of that level, but had subconsciously protected himself against its effects with little more than a nagging headache was astonishing. He imagined he could almost feel the raw power that surged through the teenager.This was not something they had considered when his cousin had hatched his scheme to give his beloved Lily a child. They’d not stopped to think that the three of them, all magically powerfully in their own rights, were contributing their essence to create another magical person. It seemed that the Potter luck had held true, and the product of that endeavor, undertaken in love and trust, would be the most magically powerful being in a millennium.

“Papa?” Concern laced the words, and Severus looked down in to the impossibly green eyes of his son, who stood less than a head shorter than himself now.

“You did well, Harry. Lily and James would be as immensely proud of you, as I am,” Severus told him quietly. “Come, let us feed our guests.”

The evening passed swiftly as the group of friends celebrated the start of the Yule, taking the time to renew friendships and enjoy each other’s company. Harry watched the American wizard debating werewolf politics with Remus, with his father and the Headmaster adding their opinions. The witches flanked Harry, talking about the different ways each had celebrated the holidays in the past. He smiled and listened attentively, their chatter flowing over Harry warmly as he thought about the cleansing ceremony and the flare of white light that had been so unlike the auras of the others. It seemed to him that he could feel his magic flowing just beneath his skin now that he wasn’t trying to fight off curses, and he wondered if this was normal. His Head of House caught his attention as she explained the significant of the holly wreath, and Harry gave her his attention as she began to weave a tale of ancient Celts.

The evening ended on a bittersweet note for Harry. He spent the last hour engaged in a lively discussion of what constituted true evil with the American filmmaker; they debated whether the Light should actually use Dark to defeat evil. Enthralled with the tales the older man wove around his characters in an unending fight against the Dark side, Harry was disappointed when he learned that George was leaving for his home in California that night, to celebrate Christmas with his family there. When George got up to say goodbye, Harry did his best to act as graciously as his father would.

The older wizard smiled at him, and hugged him, before putting a hand on his shoulder. “You are a splendid young man, Harry, the kind of son any man would be proud of.” The bearded face lit with a smile before he continued, “I do believe that your dad is extremely proud of you, and I am most pleased to know you consider me a friend. Do remember that you are always welcome in my home.”

The rooms seemed a bit empty as he got ready for bed a little later, the sitting room once more immaculate and festively decorated. The only sound he heard was his father moving around in his bedroom across the hall. Harry sat on his bed, his fingers stroking the soft leather of his new journal, as his mind drifted back to the cleansing ceremony, and it replayed in his mind.

“Harry?”

He looked up as the bed sank beside him, and Harry smiled as he met the warm onyx eyes. “Thank you for the gift, Papa, I really like it.”

Severus reached out to brush the tip of his forefinger over the snitch, setting it into motion. “I am glad you like it, Harry. Lily was forever writing in her journal, so I thought you might like one.”

“I do,” Harry said softly, his mind still seeing the flare of white light. “Papa? The colors that appeared around each of us this afternoon, they were connected to our magical power, weren’t they?”

“Yes, they reflect the area in which one’s magic is the strongest. The amber color of Poppy’s aura denoted her strength in the type of magic used for healing, while yellow and gold show strengths in transfiguration and charms. The lighter the shade, the more powerful the magical ability.”

His father’s voice was quiet, the dark eyes watching him intently as Harry frowned, his eyes dropping to the journal in his lap, the black leather dark against his gray pajamas. “But my magic didn’t have any color at all, Papa. How do you know whether I am good at anything?”

“Look at me, Harry,” his father’s voice commanded quietly, and he raised his head to meet the glittering eyes. 

“Your magical ability is such that you will excel in many areas, Harry. The pure white light denoted the incredible amount of power that you have, son, stronger even then Albus, once you have been trained to control your magic.”

 _Incredible amount of power?_ Harry thought with a frown. “Professor Dumbledore’s had a bit of blue in his…” 

He trailed off as what his father had said actually registered in his mind, and Harry realized that his aura showed that he was more powerful than the Headmaster. How could he be that powerful? His uncle’s red blotchy face drifted to the periphery of his mind, calling him freakish and abnormal.

“Harry!” 

The eyes that could be so expressive bore into his, the anger in them evident, and Severus slid an arm across his shoulders. “You are not a freak, nor are you abnormal, Harry James Potter-Snape! You are the product of three very magically powerful people, Harry, and it would stand to reason you would be very powerful yourself! That you could Apparate to the roof of your school when you were only six should have told you something!”

“ _…but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…_ ” Harry muttered a fragment of the prophecy that suddenly popped into his head, sighing in resignation.

“Indeed, my son,” the Potions master told him as he pulled him closer, “and once you have full control, you will be formidable.”

“And better able to protect those people I love!” Harry said fiercely, his godfather’s image flashing through mind.

Severus nodded, smothering the sigh that threatened to erupt as his son’s Gryffindor characteristics showed themselves, and he hugged the teenager to him. It was all too much for a sixteen-year-old to have to handle. Harry should be worried about his school work, Quidditch, and dating, not how to protect everyone he loved from an evil Dark Lord. In that instant, he knew that he would accept the invitation for Harry to go to Christmas dinner at the Burrow. He might be duty-bound to remain at Hogwarts, but it would do Harry good to get away for an afternoon. What could happen in a couple of hours away from the castle?

* * *


	29. A Little Treat

* * *

Hermione would be proud of him, Harry thought, as he wrote the finishing sentence on his holiday Transfiguration essay on his parchment with a flourish. He had made a point to schedule time each morning to work on the holiday assignments while his father graded his end of term exams. The days leading up to Christmas had flown by for Harry, learning new traditions from his father as he helped the Potions master brew for Madam Pomfrey in the afternoons, and training in the evenings after dinner. Severus had begun to show him new meditation techniques that not only strengthened his Occlumency barriers, but allowed him to ‘see’ his magic. As he became better able to control his emotional outbursts, Harry would able to avoid the powerful raw magic that he had unleashed in the past. When he concentrated as his father directed him to, Harry was able to see, as well as feel, the magic pulsing under his skin like blood through his veins, and he had found that his magical core was actually centered in his heart, not the middle of his chest where most witches and wizards carried theirs. The teenager had been delighted at the fierce look of pride Severus had given him after last night’s lesson, a warm feeling spreading through him. 

Each morning brought him another gift, a Yule tradition that Severus had explained to him the second morning, when Harry had found a new leather money bag filled with wizarding coins on his bedside table. This morning he had received a handcrafted wooden box containing parchment, several new quills, and different colored inks. Feeling decidedly put out at not having investigated the Yule gift giving traditions earlier, Harry had been delighted at breakfast that morning when an owl delivered one of the gifts Hermione had helped him order for his father. A small, black, lacquered box decorated with green and silver snakes held a set of three Chocolate Frogs. The cards in the packages were pictures of his father taken surreptitiously by Harry during their time together in the evenings: one of Severus brewing a potion, one of him relaxing while reading, and Harry's favorite, a profile of his father with a small smile on his face in front of the enchanted window. Harry had written the card's contents too, listing what he thought were the older man’s accomplishments: Potions master, teacher, warrior for the Light, and father. The frogs themselves were made of Severus’ favorite rich, dark chocolate, and Harry smiled as he affixed a small green bow before setting the box in the middle of his father’s desk.

hpsshpsshpss

The Potions master had disappeared into his lab after breakfast that morning, and Harry knew he wanted to finish a potion he was experimenting on before they left to meet Remus Lupin at the Leaky Cauldron. They were going to spend the afternoon in Diagon Alley so that Harry could see all the decorations and do whatever shopping he needed to. With a smile, Harry threw a glance down the short hallway to where the laboratory door was firmly shut. It seemed his father was as bad as Hermione when he was working on his research, and lost all track of time. There was still an hour left before they were to meet Remus, and Harry decided to take advantage of the quiet to write Hermione a note, letting her know the Chocolate Frogs had arrived.

Severus sipped on the fragrant brew made with an exotic blend of teas that Albus seemed to favor at Yule time, and eyed the tea tray with disgust. It was not even lunch time, yet he knew without trying any of them, that the biscuits were made of gingerbread and molasses, much too sweet for this time of the morning. At least the tea was dark and hot, he thought, as he set the cup carefully on the saucer balanced on his knee and looked up at the powerful wizard who sat in the matching leather chair next to him. 

“I would have thought you would be down in your laboratory, Severus, working on the potion we had discussed.” Blue eyes surveyed him over the edge of half-moon spectacles.

“I am working on the potion, Albus,” he snapped, concern turning his voice harsh, “especially as my son will undoubtedly be one of the many in need of a way to rid the body of Dark magic, but there are other pressing matters than need to be addressed.”

The Headmaster set his cup down, and steepled his fingers in front of him, allowing the silence between them to stretch until Severus sighed like a chastised student. “My apologies, Headmaster, I have much on my mind and do not mean to be churlish.” 

“Harry?” his mentor asked quietly.

Severus nodded, retrieving his teacup to cradle it in his slender hands. “Last night we started with the exercises that you and I had discussed, and it went remarkably well. Harry was able to meditate and envision his magical core with little problem, Albus, except that he was actually able to see his magic.”

The blue eyes darted up with surprise, before narrowing in thought. “Well, that is extraordinary, my boy, but does make sense if you consider his emerging ability to see the magical auras around spells and magical objects.”

“He also was able to tell me that his magical core surrounds his heart, Albus, instead of being centered in his chest,” Harry’s father said, wondering if there was anything about his son that was not the stuff of legends. 

A corner of his mind noted with delight that his words had left the older man speechless, while the majority of his brain continued to worry over what he perceived made his son vulnerable to the Dark Lord. His own heart had stuttered in his chest when Harry had made his matter of fact pronouncement the night before. To be uncommonly powerful was amazing, but if his power was so Light, so filled with good that Harry was unable to fulfill the prophecy, it would cost his life.

“When Harry cast the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange in the Ministry last June, Severus, he was filled with rage, grief, and a righteous determination to hurt her, yet he didn’t. She taunted him that he had to mean it in order to cast it,” Dumbledore stroked his beard, his expression thoughtful as met Severus’ eyes. “I am sure that Harry very much meant to hurt Bellatrix, but the spell didn’t work for him, and he may not be able to cast the Unforgivables.”

“This puts him at a disadvantage, Albus,” Severus bit out, “and puts him in an unacceptably vulnerable position!” 

“Not necessarily, Severus.” The shrewd eyes studied his face intently. “It simply means that he will not be learning to cast those particular spells. Keep in mind that Harry’s great power has always lain in his capacity to love. If you think of it in those terms, then we can build his training around those spells and charms that he can best utilize in his fight.”

Severus acknowledged the truth of the statement with a dip of his head, but it did not erase his fears. “What if his magic is drained so significantly that it affects his heart, Albus?”

“I believe that Harry’s body would shut itself down before he got to a point that he depleted himself to such an extreme, Severus.”

Knowing how slim were his son’s chances of defeating the embodiment of evil known as Lord Voldemort, the words were not reassuring. Severus was truly beginning to realize how precious a gift a child was. His eyes, dark with worry and pain, met those of the man who had showed him what a father could be like. 

“How am I to keep him safe, Albus, without locking him away in the dungeons?” he asked, not bothering to keep the anguish from his voice.

A weathered hand rested on his arm. “You continue to prepare him for what is coming, train him to use the immense power he has been given, but allow him the time to enjoy life as well. Severus, I have never seen that boy as happy as he has been in the past five months, and you are the reason for that.” The warm hand patted his arm before the old wizard sat back in his chair. “Go give your son his surprise, Severus, and enjoy the afternoon in Diagon Alley.”

hpsshpsshpss

Harry looked up from the note he was writing in surprise as his father entered their quarters. “I thought you were brewing, Papa.” 

“I was having tea with the Headmaster,” his father replied absently as he moved toward his desk. Harry held his breath as Severus picked up the box and examined it. “What is this?”

“A Yule gift…” An unexpected feeling of trepidation filled him, and Harry twisted one of his new quills in his fingers. “I wanted to give you something, like you have been giving me every morning.”

The Potions master carried the oblong black box over to sit on the couch beside him, the look of surprise and delight on his face making him seem years younger. “I do not know what to say, Harry.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Bloody hell, he’d messed up again!

Warm onyx eyes met his, and Harry took a calming breath as he read affection in them. “No, son, you have managed to surprise me, actually. Yule tradition is generally interpreted to have the gift giving done by the parents, but there is certainly nothing wrong with you giving me one. I am touched by your choosing to do so.”

Harry smiled as relief washed through him. This being a family thing was not nearly as easy as it had looked from the outside, but it did seem like it was worth the effort. He gave the box in his father’s hands a significant look and was pleased to see a smile tug at the corners of the man’s lips. His father had been unusually quiet since their training the previous night, and the teenager could feel the worry pouring off the man in waves. Since he had discovered the truth about his parentage, Harry had found himself able to sense when the older man was in pain or distressed, and that tie seemed to be strengthening between them. Given his father’s actions to pull him out of the mental torture he had endured while under the influence of the hallucinogenic potion, Harry was sure that there had to be a familial bond between magical parents and children. It would also explain how Professor Snape had always known when he was in danger or out after curfew during his previous years at Hogwarts.

A gasp pulled his attention back to the older wizard, and Harry had to use all his Seeker skills to grab the leaping Chocolate Frog as it jumped from Severus’ hand. The slender, potion-stained fingers stroked the card that had been packaged with the sweet. Harry's nervous hand almost crushed the now still treat as he watched his father’s reaction, and the fingers that continued to stroke over the words he had written. The silence lengthened.

“Papa?” Harry asked, wishing his voice didn’t waver like a child’s.

There was something he had never seen in the dark eyes, but Harry knew it was good as he could feel waves of tenderness and… something, spread out and envelope him. 

“I do not know what I did to be rewarded with a son such as you, Harry,” his father told him quietly, “and to have you forgive me for the brutal behavior I showed toward you in the past…” Severus shook his head and met his worried eyes. “When my memories were returned last June, I hoped we would be able to develop a relationship, that you would be able to accept me as your father, but I never dreamed that you would be proud to call yourself my son.” 

Harry shifted his weight so that he leaned against the older man, stunned that his gift had touched Severus so deeply. “I love you, Papa, and I am proud of you. I only hope that I can make you proud of me, too.”

A warm arm was wrapped around his shoulders. “I am immensely proud of you, Harry, for a multitude of reasons, but primarily because you are such a warm and loving person. Any parent would be proud to call you theirs.”

The smile that split Harry’s face was so wide that it almost hurt, and his chest was tight with emotion. No one had ever said that to him, Dumbledore’s praises after his run-ins with Voldemort notwithstanding, and he was delighted beyond words. As if by unspoken agreement, the two sat leaning on each other for several minutes, but did not look at each other. Absently, Harry bit the head off of the frog, before flashing the Potions master a sheepish grin and offering it to him. Severus set the card down on his thigh before plucking the chocolate out of his son’s hand and taking a small bite. 

“I had another gift for you, if you were interested in taking it,” Severus told him as he handed back the remainder of the candy.

“Taking it?” Harry asked around a mouthful of chocolate. 

“I have a potion that will de-age you to the age of six-year-old, but allow you to retain the memories and abilities you have now. The Headmaster actually suggested it, partially as a disguise and partially due to some sentimental drivel about seeing a proper holiday through the eyes of a child, as you never were allowed that by the Dursleys,” his father told him quietly. “And I thought this might give you a bit of time to truly relax.”

The expression on the angular face was hard to read, Harry thought, a mixture of resignation and hopefulness that intrigued him. It might be nice to be a little boy for a bit, and to push all the things weighing on his mind to the side. There was no one around to have to keep up appearances for, and maybe he could have some of the fun that he had missed out on when he was that age. The look on his father’s face seemed to indicate that he wanted to give the teenager this opportunity, and the thought struck him that maybe Severus wanted a chance to take care of Harry at that age. 

“I will take it if you will, Papa, but I would like you to take it as well, so you will be the right age, too.”

Severus blinked at him, surprised at the request, before he nodded in agreement. “All right, the vial holds several doses. Each of us will carry the antidote in the event of an emergency.”

“What exactly will it do and how long will it last?” Harry asked as he watched the Potions master retrieve a small vial of shimmering lavender potion from his pocket.

“I will put several drops on your tongue, and you will simply shrink to the size you were when you were six,” Severus told him as he handed the vial to Harry. He carefully put away the Chocolate Frog card in the black box before setting it on his desk.

Motioning Harry up, Severus stripped off his outer robes and shirt, retrieving two small vials of a very light pink potion from one of the pockets. He set those down on the low table in front of the couch, while Harry pulled his clothes off, as he figured they would just be in the way as he grew smaller. Pointedly ignoring his father's smirk at his red boxers, which were decorated with golden snitches, Harry shivered in the chill air of the dungeons. He sat back down on the couch as he watched his father tip the lavender potion carefully onto his tongue, the grimace on his face telling Harry that this potion had the same delightful taste as most potions the older man produced.

“Tilt your head back, Harry,” Severus told him as he lifted his chin with two fingers. 

Harry closed his eyes as the drops fell on his tongue, their bitter flavor spreading swiftly through his mouth. A wave of dizziness hit him, and sure hands pressed him to lie down on the couch. A warm blanket covered Harry as he felt the first muscle twinges, then a flash of heat seared through him. Uncomfortable but not really painful, it felt more like he was melting than shrinking, and a part of his brain thought that sounded terribly funny. The cushion beside him depressed, and he recognized his father’s hand as it began to stroke through his hair.

“Remember that you are still you, son, and will have all your facilities intact,” the deep, reassuring voice told him. “Make sure your mental shields are firm, but allow the child to come forward to play.”

It was as if his mind had become split in two, with his teenage-self standing guardian over the timid six-year-old who was afraid to come out. _It is different now,_ he coaxed himself, _you are not in the cupboard, and Papa is here to take care of you. This is a gift to us, a chance to see what a real Christmas is like and have some fun._

“Harry?” The voice was filled with concern.

It was disconcerting and a bit confusing when he first opened his eyes. His glasses were askew and large for his face, but then, everything seemed so much larger to Harry. His perspective of the room was definitely different, and the sudden change was disorienting. He felt large hands wrap around his waist and Harry stiffened as they lifted him with care to settle him in a warm lap. A finger slid under his chin to lift his face, and obsidian eyes examined his face as the hands ran over his back and limbs, as if checking to make sure he was all right. Harry blinked up into the face of his father, softer than it had been, smoothed of the fine lines of worry and tension he was used to seeing, and the older Harry smiled before stepping into the background again.

“Papa?” His voice seemed small and a bit squeaky, and the younger side of him still trembled slightly.

A large hand appeared out of nowhere into his peripheral vision, and Harry could not stop himself from flinching violently. Embarrassed by his reaction, Harry buried his face in the warmth of Severus’ throat. A gentle hand cupped his head and Harry raised it from where he had ducked it reflexively. He could read the sadness in his father’s eyes. 

“No one will ever strike you again, my precious boy, not as long as I live,” his father whispered in an anguished tone as he pulled Harry tightly against his chest.

Harry threw his arms around the Potions master’s neck and hugged him back, marveling at how safe he felt with this man. The hand at the back of his head dropped down to rub slow circles on his back, and Harry sighed as he absorbed the comfort being offered. Neither of them heard the Floo activate or saw Remus Lupin step out into the sitting room until he gasped. Harry peeked out to see the last of the Marauders staring at them.

“Severus?” a perplexed look appeared on the man’s face as he took in the sight of the Potion’s master younger appearance, and the small child he held in his arms. “Harry?”

Looking out from under his lashes, Harry grinned at him before burying his face again to giggle, a bubble of happiness in his chest. The stroking fingers brushed along his ribcage and Harry convulsed into a fit of laughter as he was tickled. His glasses flew off as he flung himself back, and the child froze. Wary eyes focused on his father’s face as he summoned them back and slid them on to his face.

“Come, little one, sit up so that we can dress you and get started on our adventure,” Severus said, not calling attention to Harry’s reaction. “Good afternoon, Remus. As you can see, we have taken a modified de-aging potion that will allow Harry to experience the portions of the Christmas and Yule celebration that were denied him as a child. It will also serve the purpose of disguising our identities,” Severus summoned the clothing he had shrunk for his son, and smiled reassuringly as the child quietly submitted to being dressed.

Remus stepped closer as Severus stood with Harry in his arms, extending a wrapped dark brown wrapped toffee to him. “How far did you go? He looks like he is about four.”

The Potions master shot Lupin a dark look as he slipped the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes appearance-changing sweet into his mouth. “Harry is physically as he was at six years of age, although he has retained all of his current memories,” Severus said as he set his son down in front of him to redress “I want today to be something that makes up a little for having to grow up with those wretched excuses for relatives.” 

Not waiting for a response, Severus leaned down as he re-buttoned is robes and pointed to the two vials of pale pink potion on the edge of the table. “I need you to pick up one of those vials, Harry, please, and put it in your pocket.” He knelt in front of the child, looking into the trusting emerald eyes. “It is essential that you keep this safe at all times, son, as this is the antidote to the de-aging potion. Take it only if I tell you to, or in the event of an emergency,” Severus lectured. "Do not handle it, do not remove it from your pocket, and do NOT show it to anyone.”

Wide innocent eyes blinked at him, but the teenage Harry made himself known with his cheeky response. “Yes, Father.”

“Impertinent imp,” the Potions master muttered as he swept Harry up in his arms and hugged him tightly.

The three Flooed through to the Leaky Cauldron and walked the short distance into Diagon Alley. There were more people shopping than Severus would have expected, given the recent increase in random attacks by Death. Parents kept their young children close as they hurried in and out of the various shops, while the teenagers seemed to want to linger as they spoke excitedly with each other. Severus continued to carry his son, and Harry seemed comfortable perched on his hip, his bright eyes taking in the elaborate decorations and displays. 

Tonks joined them as they strolled passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, not blinking an eye at Harry’s diminutive state, simply ruffling his hair gently before falling into step beside Lupin. Severus did not have to glance around to know that there were other members of the Order of the Phoenix scattered in the shadows as well. Harry squealed and bounced in his arms as he caught sight of an elaborately decorated Christmas tree at the entrance to Gringotts. With a smile at the boy’s antics, the Potions master retrieved money from his vault, and changed a portion of it to Muggle money when they returned to the lobby. Harry wriggled from his grasp, slid down to the floor, and ran over to gaze up at the snow-encrusted tree decorated with fairy lights and glowing crystal globes. The boy wrapped his arm around Severus’ leg and leaned on him as he looked up in wonder. 

Severus quickly completed the errands he had in the wizarding area, stopping occasionally to allow Harry to look closer at something he had shown interest in. He found the quiet little boy the complete opposite of the ‘Harry Potter, celebrity’ he had accused the child of being his first day of classes. Setting Harry down, the Potions Master transfigured both their heavy woolen cloaks into coats, and helped his son with the buttons. Gathering Harry up again, he headed out into Muggle London, deciding to indulge a sudden desire to show his son the Christmas display his mother had taken him to every year, and then have a traditional tea under the stained glass ceiling. Tonks had changed her hair to a more subdued honey blonde, and transfigured her robes into a sedate blue coat and dress. Remus smiled at Harry, who looked over his father's shoulder with wide emerald eyes as they moved down the crowded sidewalk.

Harrods was huge, every bit as large as Severus remembered, and even more elaborately decorated. Harry was wide-eyed with wonder and content to be carried as they moved from section to section, floor to floor. As they approached the display that featured Father Christmas, a rosy-cheeked, rotund man dressed in red, Severus joined the queue of waiting parents and children, knowing his son would not have ever experienced this before. They were almost at the front when Tonks appeared at his side and jerked her head toward Lupin. Severus transferred a willing Harry to her arms and moved back toward the frowning werewolf, who was lurking at the back of the crowd.

“What is it?” the taller man asked quietly as he joined Lupin. 

The amber eyes glanced at him briefly before going back to scan the crowd casually. “At least two werewolves have passed through this display within the past hour, Severus,” Remus said under his breath. “It may simply be coincidence, as this was an impromptu destination, but I think we should move on.”

“Do you believe they are here scouting the area for some kind of attack?” the former spy asked, his disguised dark blue eyes looking over the ever-growing crowd.

“It is possible that this area of Muggle London will be targeted, as Christmas Eve tomorrow will bring out large crowds—”

“NOOOO!” 

A shrill scream made the hair on the back of his head to stand up. Instinct had Severus turning back toward the costumed Father Christmas in time to see Harry fling himself out of the red-robed figure’s arms. His son hit the floor and shot away from Tonks on all fours, crawling until he could stand, and then ran.

“PAPA! Papa!” 

There was no mistaking the edge of hysteria in the boy’s voice, and Severus crouched down as the child launched himself into his father’s arms. He wrapped his arms around the trembling figure as Tonks appeared, and moved them away from the unrelenting stares of the crowd. Harry sobbed quietly as they stepped into the lift and Remus pushed the button for the seventh floor. Stepping out into the opulent lobby, Severus moved to the side, spotting a small couch in a quiet corner, where he sat down with Harry in his lap. Shifting his son so that he could see the brilliant green eyes, Severus tilted his head up with a finger under the child’s chin.

“What happened, Harry?”

“That man, Papa, the one that looked like Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, meeting his eyes, “he was bad!”

“Bad, son, how was he bad? Did he… touch you inappropriately?” Severus shot a scowl at Tonks, who shook her head in the negative.

“No, bad magic,” Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He felt Dark, Papa.”

The Potions master tried to contain the shiver that walked down his spine. As he looked into those expressive eyes, he saw the emotions of a child, but the intellect of his teenage son shown through. Harry’s ever-deepening empathic abilities seemed to be able to see magic as well as the ability to heal, and now it sounded like he could also sense magic. He ran a hand down his son’s head, smoothing the wild hair as he soothed the child, rocking him gently from side to side.

“It’s all right, son, we are away from him now,” Severus assured him softly. “We are going to have tea and then we will go look around outside at the decorations.”

Harry nodded and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, allowing himself to be carried through to the restaurant. He looked around with wide eyes, taking in the elegant room and the late afternoon sun shining through the stained glass ceiling. The man who escorted them back to a secluded table was a wizard, Harry knew, although he wasn’t clear on how he knew that. It was a pleasant feeling, having the knowledge to understand what was happening, but not having to worry about it, knowing that his father was here to protect him allowed Harry to enjoy himself. A tray of cakes, biscuits, and little sandwiches appeared on the table, along with a glass of cold milk, and Harry hummed quietly as he ate what his papa put on a plate in front of him, ignoring the adult conversation that went on over his head. 

The sidewalks were filled with people, but Harry was careful to walk in between his father and Remus, holding tightly to the men’s hands. The shop windows were alive with moving lights and animated characters, and he tried to take it all in as they walked slowly down the walkway. Harry shied away from the men dressed in red robes, his mind going back to the fat man who had reminded him so much of his Uncle Vernon, and had radiated an aura of evil. It had not felt like the man was a wizard, just very, very bad, and Harry shuddered as he remembered the sweaty hands the man had put on his arms. 

Tonks, who was walking in front of them, stopped, which forced them to as well. Harry glanced through the glass door of the shop they stood in front of, his eye catching the edge of a red glow in one of the glass-fronted cases. He let go of Remus’ hand and tugged at his father’s, leading him towards the door.

“Papa, can we look?” Harry asked, even as he pushed on the door.

The Potions master glanced down at him before nodding briefly and pushing open the door, following as Harry walked in. The shop had a wide variety of items inside, from silver cutlery to jewelry to an assortment of what his Aunt Petunia called ‘baubles’ lining shelves along the walls. The heart-shaped golden locket in one of the front display cases still glowed a deep crimson and drew Harry toward it. A corner of his mind stirred and a memory surfaced from the previous summer at Grimmauld Place.

“Papa, that one—” 

“Can I help you, young sir?”

He was cut short by the appearance the shopkeeper, a kindly-looking older man with white hair and a white beard, who stepped through a curtain at the back of the room. Relieved by the absence of a magical aura, Harry gave him a friendly smile, his hand hooking around his father’s thigh. The warm smile on the wrinkled face did not reach the shrewd blue eyes that were assessing the pair over the top of his spectacles.

“Was there something in particular that caught your eye?”

Severus leaned forward over the glass case and pointed at the locket Harry had indicated. “My son would like to see that piece there, please.”

Harry tugged on the bottom of his father’s coat, and Severus lifted him up as the shop keeper retrieved the locket. Spotted, gnarled hands spread a small piece of red velvet on the glass, laying the locket down on top of it.

“This necklace is actually quite old,” the man said as he smoothed the velvet flat, "but rather crudely made, and the locket can not be opened. We do carry a wide selection of other jewelry if you would prefer something more delicate.”

One arm locked around his father’s neck, Harry leaned forward as Severus bent to get a better look. The ornate serpentine ‘S’ on the front of the heavy gold locket seemed highlighted in the dark red glow he saw around the necklace, and a memory sharpened into focus of a dark and musty sitting room. 

“Papa,” he whispered, cupping a hand around Severus’ ear for privacy, “it looks like the one from my godfather’s house, and it sort of glows.”

“Can we buy that for… Mummy, Papa?” Harry asked in a louder voice, one hand patting the older man’s cheek. 

Severus turned his head to meet his eyes, and Harry felt the brush of consciousness in his mind, viewing his memory. The older man nodded at him, a smile gracing his lips, and Harry grinned back. The old man watched the two with undisguised interest, seemingly eager to sell the chunky piece of jewelry. 

“We will take this one, please,” Severus told the hovering shop keeper, whose smile got wider as his father began to count out the Muggle money.

The wrapped necklace safely secured in the pocket of his jacket, Severus carried Harry back out to rejoin Tonks and Lupin. The late afternoon sun was beginning to set, and a definite chill was in the air. He looked casually around, evaluating their situation. Whatever this was in his pocket, it had certainly drawn Harry’s attention, and the former Death Eater was anxious to get it into Albus Dumbledore’s hands. The child in his arms tightened his hold, burying his face in the warmth of Severus’ neck, but he was unsure as to whether he was picking up Harry’s anxiety, or the boy was sensing his unease. At the entrance of a dingy alley, Severus looked around before taking a step into the lengthening shadows and following them deeper into the alley. 

“Grimmauld Place,” he growled in a low voice to the Auror, before hugging Harry tightly to his chest. “Hold on, son, we are Apparating.”

The instant his feet could move, Severus headed toward the old house Harry had inherited from his godfather, and slipped into the door without looking back. The kitchen was empty; the only light came from the small fire flickering in the fireplace. He paused only to take the bags Remus Lupin carried for him with a muttered thanks, and then Flooed through to Albus Dumbledore’s office. Fawkes trilled softly from his perch as Severus set his son down, and moved over to set the small package down on the empty desk.

“Severus?” 

The Potions master turned as the Headmaster came through his office door, a concerned look on his face. “We are fine, Albus, but we made a discovery that I felt needed to be shared with all haste.”

The blue eyes glanced at the small child gleefully examining the whirling Dark detectors on the low table in the corner before joining Severus at his desk. 

“Harry was drawn to this as we walked by a Muggle shop in London. He believes it came from Black’s house, and he said that it was glowing,” he explained as quickly unwrapped the locket, careful to handle it by the chain.

Dumbledore leaned closer to better examine the necklace. “Well done, Severus, this appears to be the Slytherin locket that—”

“Papa! This ring is glowing like the locket!” Harry’s childish voice interrupted him.

Both men turned to see the boy standing in front of the containment field that held the heavy gold ring that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. Harry retained enough of his teenage self to know not to touch it, Severus saw, but Albus had charmed the ring so that is should have only been visible to those who knew of its presence. The Potions master was hard-pressed to contain his groan trapped at this additional example of Harry’s burgeoning magical powers. The small child was as unpretentious as the teenager when it came to his magical abilities, and Severus knew they would have to train just that much harder.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry turned those verdant eyes on Severus that night and requested another day to enjoy being a child, and Severus granted it without so much as a scowl. His potions were put aside for the day, and he spent it showing his son many of the things neither of them had ever experienced before. They went sledding down the sloping hill, a wild ride that landed amid cushioning charms in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. The half-giant grinned at their antics, and Severus knew he would never be able to intimidate the large man again. Father and son had just finished building a snowman outside the private door that led to their chambers when Hagrid glided up in a thestral-drawn sleigh and took them for a ride along the shore of the lake, with Harry sitting in his lap. Severus felt a vague rush of fear before Harry timidly put his hands over Hagrid’s on the reins, ‘helping’ him steer the sled.

The best part of the day, in Severus’ opinion, had come late in the afternoon when he gave Harry his Yule gift of the day. The memories he had glimpsed during Occlumency lessons of Harry’s hardships and abuse at the hands of the Dursleys had haunted him even before the return of his memories. One particularly bothered him, the memory of Harry in his oversized, tattered clothing watching his cousin riding his new bicycle, his aunt’s smug expression reaffirming Harry’s worthlessness in the eyes of his ‘family’. He carried the boy into the Great Hall, where the traditional single holiday table sat at the top of the room and the remaining area of the vast room was empty. Severus set Harry down in front of a large object draped in Slytherin green.

“May I use magic, Papa?” Harry asked, his eyes alive with happiness.

“Of course,” Severus told him as he to a step back so he could see his face.

With a wave of his hand, the green paper disappeared; under it stood a silver and gold bicycle. Harry’s face went slack with astonishment and all he could do was stare. It was neither ostentatious nor elaborate, but a well-built, solid piece of Muggle machinery that Hermione Granger had helped him pick out. Silent tears ran down his son’s face, and Severus frowned at the reaction as he watched Harry move slowly over to it. His hand reached out to touch the handlebars and Harry flashed him a brilliant smile through the tears.

“Thank you, Papa,” he said softly, one small hand curling around the handgrip. “I have always wanted bike.”

The Potions master moved to stand beside Harry and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “You are most welcome, son. Were you able to teach yourself to ride one of these?”

“Yes,” Harry said, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I can ride it if you will make it small for me.”

Severus waved his wand, and then helped his son climb on the shrunken bicycle. Harry started off a bit wobbly, but had soon coordinated his movements and was zooming around the cleared portion of the room under his father’s watchful eyes. He conjured a leather armchair and sat back; a tea tray appeared on a small table beside him as he watched with delight as Harry’s happiness was reflected in his brilliant green eyes and flushed cheeks.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry, restored to sixteen and dressed in jeans and his new Weasley sweater, Flooed to the Burrow early Christmas afternoon, shadowed by a feeling of foreboding. The morning had been the best Christmas he had ever had, with a virtual mountain of presents waiting for him when he woke up. Most of them were small things: sweets, clothing, and the like, as if his father were trying to make up for the time they had been apart. Harry had been thrilled when he had unwrapped the latest Firebolt racing broom, but that paled in comparison to the last gift the Potions master had given him. The dark eyes watched him intently, Harry’s gift to him unopened in his hand, as he unrolled a large scroll that showed the plans and contract with a wizarding construction company to rebuild the house at Godric’s Hollow. The feelings that coursed through him were as varied as they were conflicted, happiness, sadness, joy, and fear. 

“Open your present,” Harry said quietly, the fear of rejection sitting on his chest like a stone.

Severus unrolled the large scroll Harry had given him, his eyes widening as he read over the new deed to the very same house and property, where Harry had added his father's name as co-owner. As he watched, Harry could see, as well as feel, the emotion swirling in those onyx eyes, and allowed his apprehension to ease; his father was not going to reject his gift, or him.

“Thank you, son, I am sure our home will turn out wonderful,” Severus had said, after Harry flung himself at him in six year old fashion.

The smile still lingered on his face as he was greeted by the entire Weasley clan (sans Percy), Bill’s fiancé Fleur Delacour, and Remus Lupin. Harry was enveloped in Mrs. Weasley’s arms, before Fleur stepped between them, much to the disgust of the older witch and her daughter. Ginny sighed irritably before she hugged him in turn. Dinner was a lively affair, with much conversation and laughter; bowls heaped with food were passed around and plates filled. Harry sat between Fred and Remus, directly across from George, Ron, and Ginny, and he ate while Ron recited a list of the presents he had gotten for Christmas. A foot nudged his, and Harry glanced up into the amber eyes of his honorary godfather.

“What did your father have planned for this afternoon, Harry?” Remus asked him in a casual voice, his eye darting toward Ron.

“He was going to ‘suffer’ through Christmas dinner with the Headmaster and the others who stayed at Hogwarts, before he disappeared back to the dungeons and his potions,” Harry told him, hitting on all the words they believed were keyed to trigger Ron’s violent reactions.

Ron listened with mild interest as he continued to eat, not reacting to any of the conversation. Harry flashed a happy grin at the older man and settled down to enjoy his dinner, Hermione’s absence the only detractor. His father’s decision to stay behind for the few Slytherins who had stayed over the holidays did not bother Harry; his commitment to his students was strong, and they had enjoyed the past two days together. A smile erupted at the memories from the night before.

“Arthur!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed suddenly, half rising in her chair, one hand clasped to her chest. “It’s Percy and the Minister!”

The noise level in the room rose when everyone seemed to be talking at once. Mr. Weasley jumped up, his chair tipping over and clattering to the floor as he moved to welcome his boss and his middle son. The faces of his siblings wore various masks of disguise and anger, and Percy seemed uncomfortable as he stepped inside and brushed snow from his cloak. Harry recognized the Minister of Magic from his pictures, and there was a sinking feeling in his stomach as he pushed his plate away and exchanged looks with Remus. Very few people had known he would be coming to Christmas dinner, and Harry wondered how the information had gotten to the man standing in the doorway. The smell of manipulation hung thick in the air as Percy stood like a statue, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. His boss acted as if an afternoon stroll in Ottery St. Catchpole was a daily occurrence. 

Rufus Scrimgeour dipped his head in acknowledgement of Mr. Weasley’s greeting, but did not bother addressing anyone else. His eyes immediately sought Harry, and no one in the room had any doubt as to why the Minister was there. Anger surged through him, but Harry squashed it hard as the older wizard began to speak.

“…no, no, I assure you I don’t want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden…”

Harry tuned out the voice, pushed his chair back, and stood. It did not take someone of Hermione’s intellect to figure out that Scrimgeour had come here to speak to him, and Harry was not going to prolong the encounter by acting dumb. His father would be furious, but Harry thought the man trusted him enough to speak on his own. He shot a look at Remus, who nodded imperceptibly. Mr. Weasley glanced between the Minister and Harry, but Harry forestalled him. 

“It's fine,” he muttered, walking around the corner of the table. “Fine.”

“Wonderful!” said Scrimgeour as Harry led the way outside.

Harry headed toward the snow-covered garden, not bothering to check and make sure the Minister was limping after him. He stopped at the fence that surrounded the windblown, overgrown garden, barely listening as Scrimgeour muttered sardonic compliments to the surroundings. The former Head of the Auror office had a mane of graying hair and leaned heavily on his walking stick, and Harry could feel the heat of those eyes examining him. He neither knew nor cared that this Minister of Magic had wanted to meet him, not after the fiasco the last Minister of Magic had been. Madam Bones was by far a better choice in his opinion, but the decision had been the Wizengamot’s, and not his. Scrimgeour rambled on about the prophecy, the Chosen One, Dumbledore, his father, and perspective. 

“The wizarding community at large believes you are the Chosen One,” said Scrimgeour, “and they are going to listen to what you have to say as they believe you are destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I can not help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it, well, almost a duty, to stand alongside the Ministry…”

“Excuse me, Minister, but you are asking me to stand by the Ministry, to support the actions that are being taken, as if I agree with them?” Harry forced his voice to remain neutral.

“Well, yes, of course.” The Minister looked ready to pat him on the head. “I understand from Dolores Umbridge that you are interested in becoming an Auror like your… like James Potter, and this would certainly help ensure your place in the program.”

“I don’t think that would work,” Harry said, surprised that despite his growing anger that the words came out flat, unemotional, “as I don’t like what the Ministry is doing, or some of the ways you are alerting people to the dangers. It seems like anyone can be accused of being a Death Eater, and hauled off to Azkaban, guilty or not. I can’t help wondering how safe my own father is.”

The Minister bristled, all pretence of friendliness gone. “Your _father_ was a loyal—”

Hair gently swirling in the brewing storm of magic, Harry took a deep breath, and continued as if Scrimgeour had never spoken. “My father became a spy for the Light over eighteen years ago, sacrificing his own happiness and his son to keep my Mum and Dad and me safe. He has been completely exonerated by Professor Dumbledore and has paid more than enough for a decision he made at seventeen. I doubt that he will be happy when he finds you have spoken to me at all, Minister, as I am sure both the Headmaster and my father are very protective of me.”

“And you of them, my boy. Do you have any idea what Albus Dumbledore is doing to ensure the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? What does he know that he is not telling the Ministry?”

Harry shook his head, his eyes on the swirling snow over the older man’s shoulder, allowing it to calm him. “I don’t know."

“Nor would you tell me if you did, would you?” The Minister’s voice was cold. “Why is it that you refuse to step up and help the rest of the wizarding community?”

“I can not support the actions of some of the individuals in the Ministry, and I will never support anything that the toad Umbridge might be involved in! You have a high ranking official, Minister who believes in using blood quills on students is acceptable, and Aurors who arrest a teenager like Stan Shunpike, who is as much a Death Eater as I am,” Harry told him. “In the end, will it matter whether I am the Chosen One, or what a seventeen year old prophecy might say? We will do what we need to do, me, my father, and Dumbledore, and everyone will know then,” Harry told him with a bitter laugh. 

“It sounds like you have been tutored well by Albus Dumbledore, young man,” the Minister said coldly, “and you and your father are Dumbledore’s men, through and through.”

“Yeah, we are.”

If it were not for the limp, the Minister of Magic would have been stomping as he passed the kitchen door where Percy materialized, sending a look of pure loathing at Harry. Sadness filled Harry as he watched the two Apparate away from the edge the wards members of the Order had reinforced around the Burrow. A feeling of apprehension shot through him, and Harry knew his father had felt his anger. A movement at his side showed him Ron, Ginny, Fred and George had joined him, each with an expression of disgust on their face. 

“He’s gone?” Fred asked harshly.

“Yeah.”

“Bloody prat,” Ginny muttered.

A familiar bone-chilling cold enveloped the group, and Harry swung around to see the sky behind them filled with a mass of swirling, black-draped Dementors. Still high in the air, they began their descent as Harry watched. Without a second thought, his wand was in his hand, and he moved out toward the garden in the gathering dusk. The pull of the mass Dark creatures started, making his mother’s screams echo in the back of his mind, bit Harry brutally pushed the memory away. He forced his thoughts to the happiness he felt that morning when his father had accepted his Christmas present. A burst of love filled him, and Harry faced the black wall of Dementors.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” 

The silver stag erupted from the end of his wand, larger than any Patronus he had ever cast before, surrounded by an aura of pure white. It took off toward the Dementors, joined immediately by the form of a silver Jack Russell terrier, a hyena, coyote, and a bobcat. All five of the Patronuses leapt toward the center of the mass, the smaller four allowing the stag to direct their movements. Within seconds, the Dementors were retreating.

The door to the house slammed open, and an enraged Severus Snape stormed out, followed by Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, and a parade of the other Weasleys. His father took in the scene in an instant, all five silver forms still visible as were the last of the retreating Dementors. Harry met the obsidian eyes, very glad to see the tall wizard. Not caring about anyone’s reaction, he turned and walked into the hug that was waiting for him as reaction to the past half an hour set in.

“How did they know I was here, Papa?”

* * *


	30. New Year's Deception

* * *

The imperious Potions master of Harry’s first five years at Hogwarts had returned in full form. An infuriated Severus Snape glowered from the impassive mask he still wore when in public, refusing to let his son out of his sight, going so far as to keep an arm banded around his thin shoulders. The teenagers had been given cups of thick hot chocolate by a white-faced Molly Weasley, who kept her emotions in check by taking care of the others. The Headmaster had taken Arthur, Remus Lupin, and Bill outside to strengthen the wards, while Molly had fussed in the kitchen, ignoring Fleur’s insipid murmurings. 

Harry leaned against his father, much as Ron and Ginny had been leaning on Arthur before the men had gone outside. It was a feeling he hoped he never took for granted, Harry thought as Mrs. Weasley took his empty cup. The silence was oppressive, and Harry pressed further into his father’s side, exchanging glances with Fred and George. 

“Which of you is the hyena and which is the coyote?” Harry asked curiously. 

Fred gave him a lopsided grin, his freckles standing out in his pale face. “The hyena is mine. Pretty wicked, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, they are symbol wisdom and cleverness,” Harry said, for once glad that the only reading material he'd had as a young child were school textbooks. “And the coyote is the wily trickster,” he finished, which drew a smile from George. 

“Harry?” Molly Weasley stood in front of him, wringing her hands. “I am so sorry that all of this has happened today.”

“That’s alright, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry began, not knowing what else to say.

_Crack!_

The distinct sound of Apparation saved him from saying anything else. Harry jumped to his feet, only to find himself pushed behind his father. After being on his own for so long, it was both endearing and irritating to have a protective adult in his life, and Harry fought his initial reaction to say something stupid. The door opened and Harry gripped his wand, trying to peer around his father’s robes. He relaxed and lowered his wand as Arthur Weasley came into view, followed by the others. With a slight nudge, Severus guided him back down on the couch, while he hovered behind him.

“Have you been able to discern what happened here, Albus?” 

The red-robed wizard accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Weasley, but before he could speak, a grim-faced Arthur stepped forward.

“I am afraid I am the person responsible for the Minister’s visit, Severus.” He met Harry’s eyes. “My sincerest apologies, Harry, I had only thought to mention to Percy that his mother might like to see him today, and that we were having friends in for Christmas dinner. I do not recall telling him specifically that you were coming, but he probably surmised you were invited.”

“It’s all right, Mister Weasley,” Harry told him, shifting uncomfortably on the cushion. 

“Arthur,” Dumbledore asked, looking over his half-moon spectacles, “surely you are not suggesting that Percy or Rufus Scrimgeour informed the Dementors as well.”

The Weasley patriarch paled. “No, of course not, Albus!”

Severus’ scowl deepened. “Do you recall who might have been around when you held this conversation with your son?”

Harry resolved to remain silent, a glance at Mrs. Weasley’s pale face and red eyes convincing him that she would not appreciate his thoughts on her middle son. Percy had always been rather a prat to Harry and Hermione, and judgmental toward his younger siblings. It did not take much to imagine the ambition that estranged him from his family driving him to become a Death Eater. He watched as Mr. Weasley frowned in concentration, one hand scratching the top of his balding head.

“It was just yesterday as I got ready to leave, Albus. I rode down on the lift with Percy and mentioned it to him then. Harry’s name was not mentioned though, and there were other people in the lift.”

Severus Snape glanced at his son's pale face as Arthur spoke, aware that Harry thought as Severus did: the middle Weasley son had much to do with what had happened this afternoon. It did not escape his notice that Harry had been careful not to mention the idea himself, no doubt to spare the young man’s parents. His eyes narrowed as he considered the possible connections between what had happened and those who had knowledge of Harry’s visit. There were Voldemort sympathizers within the walls of Hogwarts, namely older students and a teacher or two whom Albus suspected, any of whom might have come upon the information. Hogwarts had always been a hotbed of rumor, the Potions master acknowledged bitterly. It had been one of the factors that led to the course of action he, James and Lily had taken all those years ago. His focus narrowed to keeping his son safe.

“Come, Harry!” Severus immediately regretted the snap in his tone, cursing his weakness of letting old hurts irritate him.

“Father,” Harry bit out, sparks in his emerald eyes as he stood.

Severus held up a hand, taking a deep breath. “My apologies,” he said quietly. “I would just like to take you back to where I am confident you are safe.”

Molly moved to stand beside him, a cautious hand brushing Severus’ sleeve, an unspoken apology in her eyes. The Potions master acknowledged her with a tilt of his head and stood back as she pulled his son into a hug. He watched as Harry returned it, his body relaxing slowly into the warmth of the embrace. Molly then stepped to the side, maneuvering Harry next to Severus, as she met the Potions master’s, her clear blue ones heavy with sadness and remorse.

“Your father simply wants you safe, Harry; any loving parent would want to protect their children. I am glad that you came for dinner.”

Harry nodded, relaxing enough to lean into the hand Severus settled on his shoulder. Albus Dumbledore, who had moved to stand beside them as quiet farewells were exchanged, handed Severus an old trainer, its blue aura identifying it as a portkey. Remembering Harry’s dislike of the processes, Severus was reassured when the teenager allowed himself to be tucked into his father’s side, before activating the portkey.

hpsshpsshpss

The remainder of the holidays sped past, and Harry found that he was able to slowly relax again in the relative safety of the castle. Both he and his father were reluctant to let the other out of their sight after the unexpected incident on Christmas Day. Harry had known he was a target since that nightmare in the cemetery, but being told by the Minister of Magic that your beliefs and those of your loved ones are flawed added to his anxiety. He knew that his father shared his concerns about Percy Weasley’s involvement in what had happened. Ron, Ginny, and the twins had been furious with their brother that afternoon and Harry felt bad for them. To have a family member who seemed to turn their back on everything they were raised to believe had to be hard.

Just before breakfast on New Year's Eve, Harry was outside in the courtyard outside the castle's entrance, spreading breadcrumbs Dobby had brought him for the birds. He was delighted when several small ducks landed, and scrabbled to grab a few crumbs before being chased off by a pink-footed goose. His father stood behind him, and Harry did not need to look to know that the Potions master was shaking his head over what little it took to amuse the teenager. Severus had begun to teach Harry to names of various bird when they had their first picnic together, and they both found that feeding the birds was a relaxing chore for both of them. 

A small ball of gray feathers shot past Harry’s ear, twittering madly. It flew directly to the shadows where Severus stood. Harry turned, watching the little owl all but stand on his head trying to get his father to acknowledge that he was flying in front of him, and could not stop the snort of laughter at the sight. A glimpse of the faint aura around the small scroll of parchment the bird carried made Harry jump towards the Potions master just as he reached for it.

“Don’t touch the message, Papa!”

His father took half a step back as Harry flew up the two steps to where he stood and pulled the arm holding Pig away from the black robes. Harry manipulated the older man’s arm so that he could better see the scroll. He drew his wand from his pocket to use as a pointer of sorts, while Pigwidgeon hooted frantically. The wand in his hand trembled slightly, the reality of this betrayal slamming into him when he saw the red tinge of Dark magic in the aura around the message.

“See here, Papa! The parchment has some kind of spell on it. Can you see it?” 

Harry was unable to keep his voice steady, but one glance at the dark eyes told him his father knew what he was thinking. A hand on his shoulder urged him forward, and they made their way to the second floor corridor and past the gargoyle without a word. The spiral staircase took them up to the large oak door, which swung slowly open at their arrival. Neither was surprised to find the Headmaster sitting behind his desk as if waiting for them as. The elderly wizard watched them move into the room over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“Good morning, Severus, Harry,” Albus Dumbledore greeted them warmly, setting the _Daily Prophet_ down on his desk. “Is there a reason you have Ronald Weasley’s owl in a stranglehold, my dear boy?”

“The missive attached to his leg is tainted with a Dark spell, Albus,” Severus bit out, irritated by the old man’s calm demeanor while his son’s heart was breaking. 

The Headmaster could move with an agility of a much younger wizard when motivated, the Potions master thought idly, as a swirl of magenta robes was instantly up and around the desk. Severus held the squirming fowl at arm’s length. Harry was still close at his side, the anxiety and hurt he was feeling clearly evident, even without the familial bond that had developed over the past few months. Pain was the last thing his son needed, and to add to it a betrayal of this kind, by someone in the family that Harry thought of as his own— A swish of the slender length of wood in a gnarled hand redirected his focus on the excuse for an owl he still held.

“A fairly powerful Compulsion Spell,” Dumbledore said with a frown. “You may check the message safely now, Severus.”

Harry stepped around in front of him and took the small owl gently in his hands, freeing Severus to untie the scrap of parchment from its leg. Gingerly, he unfolded the note as the teenager cooed at the bird, an owl treat appearing out of nowhere, as did a breakfast tray on the low table in front of the Headmaster’s desk. Following Harry over to the chairs, Severus sat down, unrolling the parchment and smoothing it out against his thigh before reading the note aloud.

_Dear Severus,_

_Molly and I would love to have you and Harry join us tomorrow for New Year's dinner at the Burrow. It will be just the family, and I can promise no Minister of Magic or other uninvited guests._

_We will expect you at half one._

_Sincerely, Arthur Weasley_

The little color remaining in his son’s face drained completely. The silence that stretched in the room was broken only by the small bird’s soft hoots. Albus Dumbledore stood next to Severus and waved his wand over the parchment several times. His forehead furrowed in concentration as he continued to his silent incantation, lips moving slightly. Severus knew the older man well enough to know Albus would say something when he was ready. Harry shifted in the next chair, gently stroking Pig.

“As far as I can determine, the Compulsion Spell was the only spell cast on the parchment, and it does carry Arthur Weasley’s magical signature. I would have to assume that it was sent by him.” The clear blue eyes were troubled.

Severus looked up, anger coloring his voice. “Arthur Weasley, an employee of the Ministry of Magic, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, sent me an invitation to a holiday dinner and spelled the parchment with a Dark magic charm that would coerce me into attending AND bringing my son with me.”

“Papa,” Harry interjected quietly, “is there a spell or something that you can use to check and see whether someone is under the Imperius?” 

“What?” Severus redirected his attention from the Headmaster.

“When Ron left for Christmas, he mentioned that his mum was going to have Mad-Eye Moody check him for Dark curses during their cleansing ritual. Is there a way we could check Mr. Weasley for the Imperius Curse if we went to dinner?”

“The risk is too great, Harry. I will not put you in a position of danger!” Severus said, coming to his feet.

“You would be right there, so I would not be in any danger!” Harry cried as he stood. Pig finally escaped his hand, and twittered madly around Harry’s head. 

“Neither of you will be going into what is likely a trap,” Dumbledore said firmly as he moved back around to his desk. “Sit, both of you. There is another solution to this situation, one which will keep both of you safe.”

Severus stepped forward and scooped the tiny bird out of the air. He handed Pig to Harry, but did not immediately retreat, his hand lingering on his son’s arm. He waited until the teenager looked him in the eye to make sure Harry knew that his concern was the overriding emotion. The defiance mingled with worry in green eyes so like Lily's brought a small smile to his face, and Severus let his hand linger as he felt Harry calming, silently assuring his child that all would be well. He hoped in his heart that he could deliver on the promises he made.

As father and son returned to their seats, the flash of a silver phoenix drew their attention back to Dumbledore. A small writing table appeared at his elbow, with an assortment of small pieces of parchment in several different pastel shades and an ever-ink quill. Severus could not help put snort as the man bypassed the pink and yellow-hued scraps and chose a cream one.

“An acceptance reply that is a bit less caustic than normal will suffice, Severus.” The twinkle was back in the blue eyes that watched him from over the top of the half-moon spectacles. 

A soft knock at the door came a short time later, as his son held a wriggling Pigwidgeon while Severus tied the scroll of parchment securely. The little owl twittered madly when he was released, then he circled the room once before launching himself out the open window. The tawny head of Remus Lupin appeared around the edge of the oak door as the Headmaster bid entrance. 

“Good morning, Albus. Have you seen Harry or Sev—”

The amber eyes met Snape's for a moment, concern in the depths, which Severus acknowledged with a slight nod. Remus had always been the most intuitive of his and James’ friends when they were younger, the gentlest despite the condition he suffered. 

“Remus, please, come join us.”

Severus cast a nonverbal _Scourgify_ on his hands before taking a still warm piece of toast and buttering it. The last of the Marauders settled into a chair that had appeared beside the teenager, and Harry greeted him quietly. Handing his son the toast accompanied by a pointed look, the Potions master helped himself to a cup of tea. 

“I was looking for Severus and Harry, actually, Albus.” Remus leaned over Harry’s leg to retrieve a cup of tea for himself. “Neither of them appeared at breakfast, and I found that book of spells we discussed last night. I thought I’d check with Harry to see if he wanted to spend some time with me this afternoon.”

“I don’t think that—” Severus started as the teenager stiffened beside him. 

“Excellent idea!” Dumbledore beamed at them as he cut the Potions master off.

Severus clamped his teeth together on the scathing comment that demanded exit from his mouth, and he saw that Harry was struggling with his own frustration. His son had matured a great deal from the just six months ago when he had all but destroyed the office they now sat in. The intellectual half of his brain told him that the Headmaster would let them in on his grand plan when the time was right, but the emotional half was all for giving in to an adult version of the tantrum Harry had pulled in June. 

“Albus, I think we have a larger problem to deal with—”

“Indeed we do, my boy,” the Headmaster agreed as he placed his cup back on the saucer. “Do you have any Polyjuice Potion in your stores, Severus?” 

Harry watched his father bristle at the question as he washed the last of his toast down with pumpkin juice. The feeling of dread that had begun when Pig arrived kept getting. There was something Dark going on with the Weasley family, and it had Harry scared to death. His father might be safe, ensconced as they were in the dungeons of Hogwarts, but the Weasleys and Hermione’s family were still vulnerable. His forehead throbbed from temple to temple, and Harry brought a hand up to massage it. A reassuring hand tugged his gently down.

The onyx eyes of his father were filled with concern. “Everything will be all right, Harry. You must have faith in what Albus is doing.”

Harry could only nod slowly, putting his faith in the two men he trusted.

hpsshpsshpss

The afternoon dragged on, despite the book of new spells that Remus brought for him to learn. His father had retreated to his private lab to prepare the Polyjuice Potion, which he had in his stores under a stasis spell, for immediate use. Harry thumbed through the old text as he waited for Remus to shift things around in a little-used dungeon classroom. Not wanting to be sequestered in the Room of Requirement if something should happen, the Headmaster quietly suggested the old classroom. Severus had readily given his approval, and Harry thought the older man was a bit relieved to have him nearby. 

The spell book Harry was looking at seemed to be ancient. The spells and charms in it were labeled Light, but they were in the realm of spells that could easily be manipulated into something Dark. The intent of the caster was the most important factor in the spells, and if coupled with enough power, there were Light spells which appeared to be able to kill you as easily as the _Avada Kedavra_. Easing onto the top of a desk, Harry went back to the beginning and began to read in earnest, amazed at how a simple levitation spell could be manipulated to hurt or kill. 

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor joined him, shedding his outer robes in favor of gray slacks and a white jumper. “Let’s try this one, Harry.”

Harry saw that Remus was pointing at a shielding charm with which he was familiar.

“If you cast the charm correctly, you will conjure a fairly strong shield around yourself , but if you cast it around an opponent with sufficient power, it turns into a shield that imprisons the individual. Any spells they attempt to cast, even an _Finite Incantatem_ , are reflected back on them.”

“Wicked!” Harry told him with a grin.

The older wizard threw him a mock glare as he moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Harry. As he had done during Harry’s third year, Remus took each step of the spell, explained what it was, and then demonstrated how to properly cast it. They worked on each spell until Harry understood it and could cast it correctly. Shielding spells, repelling spell, and banishing charms were corrupted and recast before Dobby appeared with a plate of sandwiches and as stern a look as was possible for the house-elf. 

His father joined them halfway through the afternoon, the expression on the man’s face still grim. With a nod to Remus, who was showing Harry how to gradually increase an _Aguamenti_ in order to flood a room or drown an opponent, Severus moved into position on Harry’s other side. Harry flinched slightly, but figured this strategy was not any worse than banishing someone into a barrel or even solid rock. It was just another reminder that he was destined to become a murderer. The prophecy flashed through his mind, and Harry swallowed hard against the bile in his throat.

“Enough for today, I believe,” a quiet voice announced from doorway.

Harry turned to see Dumbledore beckon to them to follow him. He grabbed his robes and moved down the corridor behind his father and the Headmaster. They walked passed the Potions classroom and the student laboratory to their rooms at the far end of the hallway. Dobby bounced up and down excitedly before he threw his arms around Harry’s thighs in his usual exuberant greeting, and he could see that the house-elf had expanded the small table in the sitting room, which was set for four. Harry’s stomach, still tense and knotted, lurched in protest; and he was not sure he would be able to eat anything tonight.

Severus watched the emotions flit across his son’s unguarded face and stifled a sigh as Harry retreated to his room. He certainly hoped that his mentor had some kind of encouraging news, but restrained himself from asking Albus, as he conferred in the entry with the werewolf. Severus cringed as the old term crept out of the back of his worried brain, draped his outer robes over the back of his desk chair, and took a deep breath. If the last of the Marauders, the last of James’ friends, could do anything that would help keep their son from harm, then Severus would accept him with open arms. Remus Lupin had always been pleasant to him, if a touch of indifferent and shortsighted though, whenever Sirius Black started his bullying. James had been able to deflect much of it in their younger years, but not after he received the Mark the summer before their sixth year.

Harry coming out of the loo pulled him from his thoughts, and Severus could see the teenager’s face was still pale. He felt the strong emotions churning inside his son as they filtered through to him, and Severus tried to differentiate them but failed. Hearty soup and crusty bread appeared at the table as they all sat down, and the Potions master watched as his son stirred his soup without taking a single bite. A silent _Accio_ brought a vial of nutrition potion from his lab and he handed it to Harry sitting beside him without a word. A startled look turned into one of gratitude before Harry downed the overly sweet potion and washed it down with water. Severus was amused when, almost as if knowing he had permission not to eat spurred his appetite, the teenager slathered butter on a piece of warm bread. His son nibbled on that as he took a bite of soup, the room silent except for the clatter of cutlery on dishware. A small treacle tart appeared at Harry’s elbow, eliciting a smile.

Finally, Dumbledore pushed his half-eaten pudding away from him, wiping his mouth and mustache on his napkin and spoke. “I spoke to Kingsley Shacklebolt this afternoon, after he had a chance to have a private conversation with Arthur Weasley.” The Headmaster picked up his half-full goblet and sipped on the red wine. “Arthur allowed Kingsley to check him, and I am pleased to tell you that he showed no residual Dark magic or any sign that he had recently been under the Imperius or any other mind-control spell.”

The clear blue eyes swept over Harry’s face before meeting Severus’ eyes.

“Arthur also swore, under Veritaserum, that he had no knowledge of the note that Pigwidgeon delivered. He did confirm that Molly is having dinner tomorrow afternoon at half one for the family at the Burrow, so whoever sent the note this morning has accurate information.”

“And access to Ron’s owl,” Harry interjected grimly, pushing his barely touched plate away.

“Indeed,” the Headmaster agreed quietly.

“Now that Arthur is aware of the situation, Albus, is he able to provide any insight as to what is happening?” Severus asked, his eyes on his son’s pale face. 

“Not really, my friend, as he is rarely home except to fall into bed for a few hours and then goes back to the Ministry. He is aware that Kingsley and Nymphadora Tonks will be filling in for you and Harry tomorrow at dinner, Severus.”

“The Polyjuice Potion,” Harry guessed, looking up at Severus, who nodded.

“If all goes well, Harry, the Weasleys will never know that it was anyone but your father and yourself who had dinner with them tomorrow afternoon, and you'll remain safe while we attempt to find out what is going on.”

Severus watched as Harry nodded in acceptance, but he knew that the turmoil still churned within the teenager. Harry wanted no part in the deception of his friends, but knew his mere presence was what had caused the need. After seeing their visitors out, father and son settled on the couch for a quiet evening of reading and quiet conversation. A small goblet of mulled mead for Harry and a decanter of brandy for Severus appeared on the low table in front of the couch, drawing a smile from Harry as he realized that the Headmaster was thinking of them both. Harry ended up lying down, his head pillowed on the older man’s thigh as Severus carded a hand through the strands of raven hair, an action that reassured them both.

hpsshpsshpss

Harry shot straight up in bed, his chest heaving as he tried to shake the remnants of his nightmare from his mind. The images of his mum and dad, Cedric, Sirius and his papa screaming as they were bathed in the eerie green spell-light of the Killing Curse, continued to play in his minds eye despite the pressure he was placing on them. His sleep had been littered with writhing bodies and Dark curses as he dreamed of his friends and family dying for no reason other than their association with him. A sob exploded from his chest, where it had been contained by sheer will. Lily Potter’s face appeared amide the halos of light caused from pressing on his eyes, her green eyes glowing as she screamed for Voldemort to kill her, not Harry. That image was replaced by Molly Weasley’s rounder face, pleading for the lives of her children, put into harm's way because of their friendship with the Boy Who Lived, and Harry cried out in anguish.

An arm held him tightly against a firm chest as a hand stroked gently through his hair, and Harry slowly pulled back from the images that threatened to overpower him. The comfort of the softly muttered words and the warmth of the embrace calmed him; the overriding feeling of love and security permeated his soul and chased away the chill. Harry wrinkled his nose, recognizing the taste of the potion he was urged to drink: it was his father’s own concoction of the Draught of Peace, with a bit of Sleeping Draught added. 

“It will be fine, son, just let the potion work so you can rest for a bit. It is only half two now,” his father’s silky voice assured him even as his eyes were closing again.

Neither said a word about the nightmares the next morning, but Harry was sure Severus knew what they had been about – the familial bond that continued to strengthen between them had probably alerted the older man, as well as giving him the backwash of terror Harry was experiencing. The Potions master kept him busy in the morning helping prepare a shipment of advanced healing potions for St. Mungo’s. Harry inventoried the stores for the ingredients the students would need for the potions Severus had planned to brew the next week, as the students would return to Hogwarts tomorrow for the start of classes.

After lunch, Severus summoned his son's broom and ordered him outside, his imperious manner coaxing a smile out of Harry. The older man retrieved his own broom and followed Harry out their private door, watching as he kicked off from the ground with a whoop of joy into the light snow that was falling. 

The cold wind whipped at his heavy cloak, and Harry muttered a warming charm. Glancing back, he saw his father following at a more sedate speed as they headed for the Quidditch pitch, and did a slow loop, feeling the heat of a parental glare. With effort, Harry blocked everything else out of his mind and lost himself in flying.

A flash of flame brought Harry back to reality, and his initial smile faltered as Fawkes flew beside him, leading him back to where his father now sat in the high stands watching him. As he landed, Harry silently banished both brooms back to the broom-closet in the dungeons, and grasped one of the warm tail feathers that the phoenix presented, clamping down on the dread he was feeling. In an instant, they were standing in the Headmaster’s office, a pale Remus Lupin already seated in one of the soft armchairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk. Harry took a step closer to his father and Severus looped an arm around his shoulders.

Dumbledore’s face was set in an uncharacteristically harsh expression as he stood to face them.

“Kingsley and Nymphadora have been kidnapped from the Burrow by portkey.”

* * *


	31. Unseen Dangers

* * *

Harry sagged against his father. Even though they had suspected this would happen, it was still a shock to hear it. The tainted message from Mr. Weasley had brought Harry’s worse fears to fruition: someone was targeting people he loved. Blinding anger welled up inside him and Harry could feel his magic respond to it. 

“Voldemort,” he spat, straightening and taking a step toward the Headmaster. “How long before they change back?”

“Harry…” His father’s voice was soft, trying to calm him, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

Harry yanked his body forward, unwilling to accept comfort when two of their friends were about to die in their place. Kingsley and Tonks were in mortal danger, and it was his fault. Again. The anguish and guilt he felt made his chest ache, and Harry knew he had to do something.

“Kingsley and Tonks were taken because he wants me! And we are leaving them to die without doing anything! I’m not sure I can take anyone else dying because of me, Father!” He drew in ragged breath, and turned to meet Dumbledore’s blue eyes. “They’ll be killed as soon as the Polyjuice Potion wears off, Professor!”

His father’s hands settled on his shoulders, gripping firmly. Harry allowed it, distracted as he was by the comprehension that there was nothing he could do in this situation. When Severus was captured, Harry had been able to Apparate to his side, following the pull of the family ring he wore. There was absolutely nothing he could do, he realized, as he had no way to track them. Guilt threatened to choke him, and he struggled to rein in the magic he could feel rising. He was drawn back against the soft robes his father wore.

“Harry, they are both trained Magical Law Enforcement officers. Kingsley is a powerful wizard, a senior Auror, and one of the best in his field. Nymphadora may be young, but she has been very well trained. They are not going to just stand still and become the Dark Lord’s latest victims.”

Harry, trying to master the magic that seemed determined to find a destructive outlet, allowed his father's velvety voice to wash over him. A movement to one side caught his eyes, and he turned to see Remus Lupin scrub his hands over his face. He was not the only one worried — the older man had even more at stake, as it was his fiancée who had disappeared. His magic seemed to settle with Severus’ touch, and Harry concentrated on funneling the magic into the older man, turning it into a healing force. It eddied between them for a moment, the red, angry aura changing to a blue-white before it was absorbed into them. 

“Why don’t you go wait in your rooms, Severus,” the Headmaster suggested softly, “and I will contact you the moment we have any information." 

Harry did not bother to glance up, knowing that his father was nodding in agreement. A slight bit of pressure on his shoulder turned him toward the door, and he followed along silently. It was hard not to fling himself headlong out the door in an effort to save the captives himself, or have Ron and Hermione here with him, planning and nagging. He did not like this feeling of helplessness, wishing that there were some way for him to help, yet knowing there was not. It was much easier to be in the middle of the fray, he mused as they walked into their rooms, rather than be left behind to wonder and wait.

Harry hung his robes in his wardrobe before venturing back out to the sitting room. Severus disappeared down the hall towards his lab and the teenager sighed, realizing that the older man needed time to work his way through his thoughts as Harry did, and eventually settled on the cushioned window seat. The light snow had thickened, and he stared unseeing out at it through the magical window. Another sigh escaped him as he thought back over the harsh words he had thrown at his father. Almost six months of having a parent was not enough time to erase the habits of fifteen years fending for himself. Harry could only hope that the Potions master understood that. 

Harry drew his knees to his chest and lowered his head onto them, wrapping his arms around his legs. His scar had started to throb, a feeling of euphoria tingling along the edges of his consciousness and growing stronger. Harry frowned as he closed his eyes, allowing the foreign feeling to pull at him. He could feel something battering against his outermost barriers, and Harry isolated the one in time to watch in horror as it fell. Instantly, he was engulfed by blinding pain that seared through his scar. Voldemort’s cold, maniacal laughter pierced his mind, and Harry knew in that instant that somehow the evil wizard’s feeling of happiness had breeched his barriers. The familiar image of a graveyard supplanted his own thoughts, and the image of himself tied to the cold granite headstone of his nightmares rose to the fore. A fallen figure in black twitched at the foot of the grave, and Harry watched as it was hit with a Cruciatus Curse. Fire ripped along his nervous system, and he was sure that he was screaming along with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Grasping at the protective presence at the fringes of his consciousness, Harry forced the pain to the back of his mind and concentrated on the fallen barrier. Methodically, he re-wove his magic into the barricade, reinforcing it with the energy he knew linked him to his father, hoping that if the barrier ever fell again, Severus would sense it as well. The pain faded until it was a deep, throbbing ache, and Harry found he was too tired to push it further. He became aware of a hand yanking hard at his arm.

Lifting his head, Harry saw his father standing beside him, too relieved to notice the pale face pinched with rage.

“You foolish boy! What have you done now?”

Harry shrank back from the fury in the Potions master’s voice, but knew he had to tell what he had seen.

“Voldemort has them in the graveyard – the same graveyard he… the same one he came back in.” Harry struggled to keep his voice steady. “They still look like us…”

If anything, this information seemed to further infuriate his father, whose mouth twisted and eyes flared. 

“Your arrogance astounds me,” Severus spat at him, “but I don’t have the time now to go into it. Go to your room; I will deal with you later!”

His father gestured toward his bedroom door, and Harry could not help but flinch at the abrupt motion. He scrambled to his feet as the older man pivoted and stormed out. Harry’s chest tightened painfully, and he forced his trembling legs to carry him across the sitting room and into his bedroom. His father thought he had purposely opened himself up to Voldemort; purposely taken the chance of being possessed, and put himself at deadly risk. _Did you really fight it that hard at first?_ asked a little voice in his head. Harry shook it, hard, only to groan as the pain flared.

_I’ll deal with you later!_

The words his father had hurled at him taunted him, and Harry was eight years old again, his purple-faced uncle looming over him. Surely Severus would not beat him and throw him in a dark cupboard as Vernon had? Then it hit him: his father would never beat him; he would simply send Harry away. Had Severus not made it clear that he would not tolerate arrogance or disobedience, both of which he thought Harry guilty of? Grief welled up in him and his eyes began to burn. Moving on suddenly wooden legs, Harry sank to the floor in the far corner of his room and folded his knees to his chest. These rooms had no cupboard and neither wardrobe was large enough for him, but it wouldn’t matter when the Potions master banished him. The pain in his chest twisted and burned as he struggled not to give into his sorrow.

hpsshpsshpss

Severus tried to rein in his anger as he stormed towards the Headmaster’s office. How could Harry have been so reckless and irresponsible as to let his Occlumency barriers down? His son was undeniably powerful, but still largely unskilled, especially in the knowledge of protecting one’s mind from invasion! Truly, the boy’s arrogance knew no bounds! Yet, the Potions master swallowed hard as he recalled the blinding burst of pain and the feeling of Harry reaching out to him in panic. Terrified, Severus had rushed back to the sitting room, where he found the teenager shaking uncontrollably on the window seat. It had taken everything in him not to rip Harry out of the seat and shake him senseless when the boy had stammered out the information on the Dark Lord’s whereabouts.

The office was empty. Severus grabbed a handful of Floo powder. “Number twelve Grimmauld Place!”

Severus stepped out of the fireplace into a kitchen filled with Order members. An ashen-faced Arthur Weasley stood when he caught sight of Severus; he turned, revealing Lupin and Dumbledore. An Auror Severus could not name appeared to be giving the Headmaster a report of some kind.

“Severus!”

Albus stood as he approached, most probably reading the lingering anger and agitation in his expression. “The Dark Lord is holding them at the cemetery in Little Hangleton where… where he was resurrected two years ago.”

The clear blue eyes held his. “Harry?’

“Yes,” Severus snarled. He did not miss Lupin’s flinch.

After a few hurried instructions the room emptied, and Severus was left facing Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin. Studying the men’s faces, he was hard pressed to say which looked worse. Weasley immediately began apologizing, but Severus was not in a placating frame of mind. 

“Can you tell me what lead up to the meal, please?” he asked, forestalling the man's babbled platitudes.

Arthur ran a hand over his face. “Molly was finishing the cooking. Ginny set the table, even putting little name cards at each seat. We sat down, and had just begun to eat when the portkeys activated without a sound.”

“Everyone who knew we were invited attended the dinner?”

“Yes, everyone was at the table, except Ginny, who had a stomach ache and went up to her room just before we sat down.”

Lupin looked up suddenly. “Ginny set the table and assigned each seat, Arthur? I’ve never known that to happen at your house.”

“Well, no,” Arthur acknowledged, “I just thought she was trying something different.”

“Or assuring that the proper individuals sat in the right seats,” Lupin said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should check on your daughter, Arthur.”

If anything, Weasley paled even further as understanding dawned, and he nodded. The Floo flared green as Severus thought of the emotional ramifications when Harry learned that Ginny Weasley had orchestrated the kidnapping.

“Severus, where is Harry?” The question was asked quietly, but something about Lupin's tone made Severus look up sharply.

“If he knows what is best, then he is awaiting my return in his room.”

“You are angry with him for having a vision?” The amber eyes pinned him. “That is unlike the father you have become, Severus.”

“I have acquired the ability to tell when my son is suffering from a vision, and when he has been incredibly stupid enough to initiate access to the Dark Lord’s mind!”

“The paternal-familial bond has strengthened, then?” 

Severus looked at his former classmate with surprise. “How…?”

“It is fairly obvious if you know what to look for, Severus, and I was sure when Albus said you were able to retrieve him after the butterbeer prank.” A sad smile appeared on the scarred face. “I was fortunate enough to share a bond with my father, although nowhere near as deep as yours. Tell me, did you ask Harry what had happened, or just assume he was guilty?”

Severus' scathing retort died on his tongue as he remembered the look on Harry’s face, the trembling body, and the pain he had felt the teen suffering. Had he been so afraid that Harry would try to play the hero that he had been ready to accuse his son of doing just that, right or wrong? Closing his eyes, Severus concentrated, trying to feel his son and was bombarded by waves of grief, sadness, and pain. Appalled, he opened his eyes only to find Lupin closer, examining his face.

“He… he believes I am going to send him away…” The fact that Harry could believe such a thing was incredible to him.

“You verbally whipped an emotionally damaged child, and cannot understand why he thinks you want nothing more to do with him,” the tawny-haired man muttered, shaking his head. “I think you need to get back to your son, Severus.”

hpsshpsshpss

The Potions master was already at the fireplace, Floo powder in hand, his entire focus on his son. He stepped through to the fireplace in their quarters, stopping only long enough to glance around the room as he brushed the soot from his robes, before he moved towards Harry’s room. The teenager was slumped in the far corner, knees drawn up to his chest, and Severus could see he was trembling. Harry must have sensed his presence, as he stood up shakily as his father crossed toward him, standing with his head bowed as if waiting for the blow to fall.

“Harry…” Severus did not even know how to start the conversation, and was taken back when the teenager flinched at the sound of his own name.

“My apologies, Professor,” his son said in a soft, tremulous voice, “if you would let me know what I am allowed to take, I will leave.”

Closing his eyes tightly and taking a deep breath, Severus Snape laid a hesitant hand on Harry’s shoulder and was thankful when he did not pull away. Guiding him to the bed, the Potions master summoned his potions bag from his bedroom. When it arrived, he removed an analgesic and a post-Cruciatus potion. He silently presented them to his son, who took both without a word, head down, his eyes still staring at his lap. When Severus reached to take his hand, a drop of warm liquid fell on his wrist. Pain cramped his chest as he watched the tear slide to the side and down his hand.

“Oh, Harry.” He sat down heavily beside the teenager and gathered the unresisting body against him. Severus slipped a finger under his son's chin and tugged it gently up until he could see storm-tossed emerald eyes.

“You need to know that I would never stop loving you or send you away, Harry, no matter what happened. You are my son, and I love you, even if I do get angry with you.” The sight of the pale face and swollen eyes tore at his heart. “And you do not have to worry that I will stop loving you if you get angry with me, either.” 

The emerald eyes searched his, pain slowly receding from their depths. Harry drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh before allowing his body to relax into his father’s side. Severus wrapped his arms around his son and held him tightly for several long minutes, resting his cheek on the soft raven hair. 

“I apologize for jumping to the conclusion I did, Harry. I did not feel a vision come on, and believed you had opened your barriers to the Dark Lord. The thought of you putting yourself at that kind of risk infuriated me, but I was wrong to assume without asking.”

Those emerald eyes, a living reminder of Lily, met his eyes. “Voldemort’s strong feelings seemed to buckle one of the barriers, Papa, and I saw the graveyard for a moment when he broke through. That was when I drew some of your strength to put the barrier back up.”

Severus frowned as him. “Can you show me, Harry? Nothing should have compromised your shields?”

Harry nodded at his father, dropping his shields even as he heard the softly spoken, "Legilimens!" 

It was hard to keep the relief he felt from overwhelming him. As the memory unfolded, Harry found that he could readily feel the reaction his father had experienced as he believed Harry had opened himself: the fear for Harry’s safety, the terror of losing his son, the relief that turned to anger when Severus discovered that he seemed fine. The anger, fueled by the fear the older man still felt, had led to the fury Harry had witnessed, and remorse at his own reaction filled Harry.

“We do seem to be quite the pair, son.” Severus’ voice rumbled below his ear, and Harry became aware that he had pressed his head tightly to his father’s chest. “We must work on the insecurity we both feel.”

Harry nodded, content to sit in the warm embrace, caring only that his papa was here and loved him. “I am sorry that I reacted so badly, Papa, it’s just… that someone to love me is such a precious thing that I can’t help but think that it is too good to be true.”

His father raised his chin with a firm hand, drawing it up until their eyes met, the warm obsidian full of promise. “You must never doubt my love for you, my son. I will always love you, even beyond the grave.”

The sound of the Floo activating a few minutes later had both jumping to their feet, and Harry smothered a smile as the Potions Master tried to shield him. Albus Dumbledore stood in the sitting room, brushing soot from his robes as they appeared. The bright blue eyes flicked from father to son and back, studying their faces before nodding briefly, accepting that whatever had transpired between them had been resolved. When his father invited to his mentor to sit, Harry sank down on the warm rug next to Severus’ chair, not wanting to be separated just yet.

“We were able to subdue the Death Eaters at the cemetery, but despite my best efforts Lord Voldemort was able to make his escape. Nymphadora will be fine, as will Kingsley, although he is currently in the care of the healers at St. Mungo’s.” 

Harry stiffened at the news, knowing that in all likelihood, the Headmaster was not telling them the true extent of the Auror’s injuries, but the brush of his father’s hand through his hair kept him quiet. 

“There were only a few minor injuries, and we were able to take several of the Death Eaters into custody.” The Headmaster paused, one hand stroking his beard. “We discovered several discarded masks that lead me to believe a group of individuals were able to portkey from the site during the conflict. Nymphadora believes they were a group of teenagers, possibly even students from Hogwarts. She indicated they were observers, not participants in what transpired this afternoon.”

“Any word how Arthur fared, Albus?” Severus asked quietly.

With a sigh, the elderly wizard drew his wand out of his sleeve and waved it silently over the low table in front of them. A tea tray instantly appeared, complete with finger sandwiches and several different kinds of biscuits. Harry moved up to his knees, and poured. Putting the first cup on a small saucer, Harry handed it to the Headmaster to fix before handing the next one to Severus. Settling back against his father’s chair, Harry blew across the steaming surface before taking a hesitant taste.

“Unfortunately, Arthur did not make much progress when he returned to the Burrow this afternoon, Severus. He questioned each of his children about what happened, but no one seems to know anything about the portkeys. I was there while he was talking to Ginevra, and did not detect any discrepancies in her recollection.”

Harry turned his head toward his father, seeking an explanation.

“Miss Weasley set the table for dinner, Harry, and assigned the seating, which as you know is an unusual thing to do in the Weasley household,” his father relayed. 

“Both Ronald and Ginevra have just arrived back in the Gryffindor common room by portkey, and Miss Granger should be joining them shortly,” Dumbledore told them as he leaned forward to take a lemon biscuit from the tray. “I thought it best to have your closest friends return early, Harry, so that you did not have to worry about their safety.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry told him, touched by the thoughtfulness.

“You are quite welcome, my boy. I have also asked the remainder of the Weasley family to relocate to Grimmauld Place until we can determine what or who might be influencing them.”

hpsshpsshpss

Ron and Ginny seemed to be acting normally over the course of the few days before the other students arrived. Neither of them knew that it had not been Harry and his father at their house on New Year's Day, and Severus had insisted it remain that way. Spending Sunday night after the rest of the students' return in the common room, Harry had kept Hermione close to his side, unsure what his reception might be. It had been relatively peaceful. Ginny had curled up on the other side of Hermione, alternately cuddling with and yelling at Dean Thomas, but otherwise seemed to be the same girl Harry always known. Lavender’s exclamation of “Won-Won” anytime Ron turned away from her to talk someone else began to grate on his nerves, and Harry thought Ron’s as well. 

Classes began on schedule on Monday, and the school seemed to immediately settle back into its pre-holiday routine. Several of the Muggle-born students did not return after the holidays, nor did a couple of sixth year Slytherins. His father had told him Draco Malfoy had returned, looking pale and thin, but Harry had not yet seen him. Crabbe and Goyle had also managed to return, seemingly more thuggish than ever. A few of the older Slytherins appeared to be on edge, and Harry had to wonder if they were experiencing family pressure to take the Dark Mark. Worry about how his father was taking the overall hostility from most of the older Slytherin students haunted Harry, but the Potions master promised to take more precautions. Harry was relieved his father did not attempt to minimize his fear, but took him seriously. 

Hermione came to their quarters after dinner Monday night to tell him that the Apparation Lesson sign-up had appeared in the Gryffindor common room that afternoon. She had performed a copying spell and handed him the flyer to read even as she recited it to him from memory. Harry hid a smile as Hermione continued to talk excitedly about learning to Apparate. Suddenly she stopped, and fixed him with a glare.

“Why am I going on when you have already Apparated? Perhaps you should just take your test and not worry about the lessons.” She sank back into the couch next to him. “I mean, I’m sure your father would give you permission to do that.”

“I didn’t know that was what I was doing at the time!” Harry protested, just as his father entered from his office.

“What did you not know you were doing?” The Potions master paused at the entrance to his study, his arms filled with rolls of parchment.

“Hello, Papa,” Harry smiled at him. “When I Apparated, uh, before…”

Neither of them wanted to think back to the day of the Ministry hearing, and the older man acknowledged that with a slight nod, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “Yes, and?”

Harry stared at him, his mouth suddenly dry, while both his father and Hermione looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat, but his mind remained blank. How did one ask for something they wanted? At the Dursleys', Harry had learned as a toddler not to ask for anything, even the most basic needs, because it led to harsh reprimands. As a child, he had done without, and since his arrival at Hogwarts, he had fended for himself. The unexpected appearance of a parent, no matter how welcome, created a different challenge.

“Um, they have… Hermione says I need… can I… I mean, may I…” Harry trailed off, grimacing at the drivel coming out of his mouth. 

Dark eyes watched him intently from beneath a furrowed brow as the older man shifted the scrolls of parchment impatiently, and Hermione heaved a sigh.

“Oh, for heaven's sake!” the witch snapped, exasperated. “He won’t bite you for asking for something you need, Harry! It’s not as if you’ve never asked for anything before.” The brown eyes darted from Harry’s face to his father. “Oh, no! Harry, I didn’t think! I am so sorry!”

His father had begun to glare as Hermione spoke, but when he realized Harry’s dilemma, he nodded at him in encouragement.

“Ah, may I take Apparation lessons with… with Hermione and Ron, Papa?” Harry asked, his tentative voice gaining strength as Severus stood waiting and did not object. “I can pay the twelve Galleons out of my own money.”

“Yes, you may sign up to take the lessons, and I do believe a parent should bear the financial responsibility in this instance,” Severus told him, a small smile flitting across his features. “Was that truly so difficult?”

A broad smile lit Harry’s face as he shook his head. His normally stoic parent rolled his eyes, and Hermione smothered a giggle at their antics. The teenagers settled in to work on their homework as the Potions master retired to his study to grade summer essays. It felt good to have his friend once again at his side, and Harry silently mourned Ron’s absence. It was unfortunate that Lavender insisted the redhead help her with her assignments, but it was probably best for the moment, as he was watched for a recurrence of his harsh pre-Christmas attitude.

Saturday dawned bright, cold, and clear, a perfect day for the first Gryffindor Quidditch practice. Harry had slept poorly; vague images of the stone snakes and Ginny Weasley, sprawled unconscious and near death on the stone floor, had plagued his dreams. His head felt heavy and achy as he slowly dressed in his room. The soft murmur of voices caught his ear, spurring him to hurry. Yanking a green jumper over his shirt, Harry made his way to the sitting room, and frowned as he saw the Headmaster talking to his father.

Both men turned toward the teenager as he tugged his clothing in place, the look they exchanged putting Harry on his guard. The blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore swept over his tired face.

“I want you to be extra careful today, Harry. Ginny Weasley was found wandering the grounds early this morning, with no memory of when or why she left the Gryffindor Tower.”

* * *


	32. Waking Nightmares

* * *

Harry was stunned over the news that Ginny Weasley had been caught roaming the grounds in the early morning hours, dressed only in her nightclothes. His dreams the previous night had been filled with vague images of the Chamber of Secrets, of Ginny lying pale and still on the cold stone floor. He sat down heavily on the couch, taking in the worry his father was trying to hide and the concern evident on the Headmaster’s face. 

“Do you want me to cancel Quidditch practice, sir?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, that would just alert whoever is watching that we are aware of what is happening. I do not think Miss Weasley will be able to attend, however.”

Harry nodded, his tiredness forgotten as his mind balked at the first conclusion his thoughts centered on. “Professor? I…” His eyes found his father’s. “Um, I had a dream last night about the Chamber of Secrets…”

Harry looked down at his hands, wondering if he should bring up the possibility that history was repeating itself, when the cushion next to him depressed. Glancing up, he encountered worried onyx eyes, and then the older man laid a gentle hand on his arm in silent encouragement. Harry took a deep breath.

“Is it possible that Voldemort has possessed Ginny again?” Harry asked, holding his father’s eyes and allowing the apprehension he was feeling to come through.

“Yes, I imagine that it would still be possible,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, sitting in the chair across from them. “Even more possible if he managed to gain access to her at some point, as there is already a preexisting bond.”

“Which would explain how the Dementors knew where the Burrow was, even though it is well warded and protected,” Severus said, as he sat back, pulling Harry with him as he did. “Is there a way to determine whether the girl is or not, without the Dark Lord being aware?”

“Legilimency might be an unacceptable means of testing; Tom Riddle would Occlude automatically, making it difficult for us to penetrate Miss Weasley's mind if he is present.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do, Professor?” Harry’s back was stiff.

“Possibly, my boy, it might simply be a matter of eliminating whatever artifact or spell he is using to tie himself to her.”

Harry nodded, and slumped back against his father, seeking comfort. Severus wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulder as he shot a glare at his mentor. Both of them knew that the Dark Lord’s ultimate goal was to get to Harry, and a way to get through the wards and fortifications that surrounded Hogwarts. A cold shiver raced down his spine at the prospect of his son having to face down the bastard one day, perhaps sooner than they both knew.

hpsshpsshpss

The Great Hall was packed with students at the Gryffindor table, the whole house having a vested interest in their Quidditch team, it seemed. The day was cold and clear, the winter sun glistening off the fresh snow that fell overnight, and Harry took a deep breath of the crisp air. Hermione was as his side, her gloved hand holding on to his arm and Ron trudged just ahead of them, chattering away about a new Quidditch move the Chudley Cannon Keeper was using. The rest of the team trailed behind them, trudging through the snow toward the pitch, engaged in their own conversation.

After giving instructions to the rests of the team about the drills he wanted them to run, Harry kicked off from the ground. He rose rapidly until he was level with the top of the goal rings, blinking his eyes in the bitter cold. As his father had instructed him, Harry slowly surveyed the surrounding area, especially along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Nothing seemed out of place, and with a grin, Harry leaned over his broom and took off. Releasing the engraved Snitch from his own Quidditch set, he looped the field once before beginning to search for it in earnest, forgetting everything else.

Severus watched his son as he made his way to the faculty section of the stands, not surprised to find Remus Lupin and Minerva McGonagall already seated. They made room for him on the bench that had been cleared of snow and prepared with warming and cushioning charms. Settling down, Severus took out an older pair of omnioculars and scanned the sky until he found the blur of black that was his son. At least the boy had the sense to wear his heavy cloak, Severus thought as he watched the breath crystallize around his face as Harry flew in a slow circle around the pitch. Suddenly, Harry was diving straight toward the ground, falling too fast. Severus made to jump up, dropping the omnioculars.

A tight hand on his leg kept him in his seat, and Lupin leaned closer to whisper. “He’s just practicing some of his dives and rolls, Severus. That one in particular is one he used in his third year to catch the snitch out of Draco Malfoy’s hand.”

Nodding abruptly, Severus forced himself to relax. This morning’s news must have affected him more that he wanted to admit, and he was very concerned about the Weasley girl. According to Albus, she had been present for each of the suspicious incidents that had happened since the holiday break, and Severus knew there was a distinct possibility that the Dark Lord had found a way to possess the young witch again. It seemed that Ginny Weasley would bear as much watching as Draco Malfoy did. With his father still in Azkaban, young Draco would have been the best choice of those in residence to help weaken the defenses of the castle, and Severus knew the young Slytherin had been given a mission. 

His eyes tracked his son’s movements as he dropped down to check on the Chasers. A blur of red and black rose up from the ground toward the group, prompting Severus to grab the omnioculars. He focused on the moving figure and slowed the view down. His teeth clamped together to stop a shout of warning when he saw Ginny Weasley’s pale features. A gasp from his side told him Minerva had noticed her as well, but Severus kept his eyes glued to the girl, taking in the black circles under her eyes and the glint of determination in her eyes. She dove swiftly, presumably after the Quaffle, as she joined in the drills, and he saw a thick, silver chain fall out of the top of her cloak. It appeared to be heavy, the dull pewter of age, and a fine silver quill appeared to be hanging off it, but Severus lost sight of it as the girl streaked back upwards. Strange, he thought as his eyes followed the youngest Weasley, he had never seen anyone in that family wear jewelry of that type.

A flurry of activity distracted him, and Severus refocused the omnioculars to see the entire team once again. He could see Harry flying around the goals at the end of the pitch closest to them, drilling Ron Weasley on his Keeper skills. The Chasers were rerunning their drills now that their third teammate had arrived. The Beaters where headed toward the goals with extra Quaffles, no doubt to help Harry. Cheered on by the crowd of Gryffindors watching, the remainder of the practice seemed to go well, even though the cold wind began to howl. Severus relaxed slowly, recasting the warming charm as the temperature dropped even more.

hpsshpsshpss

Albus Dumbledore looked up from his desk as Severus stepped into the circular room. A woeful-looking Fawkes sat on his perch behind the grand desk, and gave a weak trill of welcome as the Potions master moved to sit. A tea tray already sat on the edge of the desk, a cup of black tea steaming. The Headmaster gestured toward it and sat back as he studied Severus’ face over the top of the half-moon spectacles, the usual twinkle absent from the blue eyes.

“I trust all is fine in the dungeons, Severus?” 

A smile ghosted over his face as he accepted the cup of tea and carefully sat down. “As of the time I time I departed, Albus, but I did leave two Gryffindors practicing non-verbal Defense spells in my classroom.”

“I dare say that Hogwarts will be able to stand the onslaught,” Dumbledore told his Potions master with a bit of his usual cheerfulness. “Harry flew well today, I thought.”

Severus blew over the hot tea before taking a sip. “If you call those suicidal dives and aerial acrobatics flying, then I would agree. I was surprised to see Miss Weasley make an appearance.”

“Poppy found no sign of a Dark curse, hex, or potion when she checked Ginny Weasley this morning, so she released her,” Dumbledore told him with a frown, picking up his own cup of tea. “I must admit that her behavior has me puzzled, Severus.”

“There may be some validity to Harry’s suggestion, Albus.”

The Headmaster set the cup carefully in the saucer and leaned back in his seat as he contemplated his Potions master. “The past incident may have left the young lady susceptible to another possession, Severus, but I think that there would have to be a physical connection of some type. The last time, Ginny was in possession of a diary that I believe was one of the Horcruxes.”

With a frown, Severus leaned forward. “The Riddle diary that Lucius Malfoy had was a Horcrux?”

“Yes, Harry’s description of what occurred in the Chamber of Secrets leads me to believe the diary had to be a Horcrux, as a sixteen year old Tom Riddle was a corporeal entity, who ‘died’ when Harry stabbed the diary with the basilisk tooth.”

Severus set his empty teacup down with hands that shook slightly. “You never elaborated on what had happened in the Chamber, Albus, but I have seen several memory flashes from Occlumency lessons with Harry. I believed them to be nightmares, not actual memories!”

“Not only were they true memories, my boy, but what your son has not discussed is probably significant,” Dumbledore told him quietly. “I am sure that the most harrowing parts of the tale were left out when I spoke with him.”

“And he has never spoken to me about what happened,” the younger man said, in awe of the strength his son displayed, both internally and magically. “It is no wonder that he has so many bad dreams, Albus, he’s not had many experiences that were good!”

The Headmaster nodded, the expression on his face grave. “I am afraid that we must have Harry revisit the Chamber of Secrets, Severus.”

Snapping his head up to meet the blue eyes, Severus narrowed his own. “Is that really necessary, Headmaster?” The hint of steel in his voice was unmistakable.

“I would not subject your son to the journey if it were not truly essential, Severus.” The elderly wizard did not flinch away from the look. 

After a moment, he stood and walked to the black cabinet near Fawkes’ perch, pausing long enough to stroke a finger over the ragged plumage. With a wave of his wand, the door sprang open, and Severus could see the two artifacts they had discovered glowing in a blue stasis field about the stone basin. The Slytherin ring and golden locket wavered in the confinement fields, and Severus was surprised that he could actually see the hint of red auras surrounding them. Perhaps as the bond between him and his son grew stronger, Severus was also gaining some of Harry’s powers and abilities. Dumbledore reached past the two glowing objects to pull out a worn and tattered leather diary. 

Retreating from the cabinet, he displayed it to the Potions master, who could clearly see where the cover had been punctured with the basilisk fang. “I am quite certain that part of what destroyed the Horcrux inside this book was Harry’s own innate abilities, but the rest may have been a combination of circumstances. One of those may well have been the obvious use of basilisk venom, but it is possible that the magic of the Chamber itself contributed, Severus.”

The man of science in him was severely tempted by the idea of what was contained within the mysterious Chamber Salazar Slytherin had hidden deep in the bowels of the bedrock below the castle, but the father in him rejected the idea of putting his son through a return trip into a living nightmare. It surprised him that the answer came so easily to him, and without hesitation, Severus shook his head no.

“Severus, without Harry, we will not be able to get back into the Chamber or gain access to what might be hidden there, nor will we be able to make sure the wards surrounding it are impenetrable. I have no doubt that Lord Voldemort will find a way around the Chamber's wards and into Hogwarts if they are not fortified.”

The memory of Harry showing him how Draco Malfoy kept disappearing into the Room of Requirement, which he had in turned shared with the Headmaster, surfaced suddenly in his mind. A feeling of trepidation washed over Severus as he thought about the implications of the Dark Lord finding a way into the castle; whether it was Malfoy finding a way to get around the protective shields or a straightforward penetration via the Chamber of Secrets, the results would be devastating. The vision of a pack of werewolves like Fenrir Greyback loose in a school full of vulnerable children made his skin crawl. Worse, he thought, would be Death Eaters coming to take Harry to his death. 

“If you believe it is that grave a situation, Albus,” Severus capitulated with a feeling of foreboding, “but not until I am able to have a discussion with Harry. I will not further traumatize him.”

The Headmaster nodded his assent as his hands brushed over the cover of the diary. Severus watched him with worried eyes as another question rose to the forefront of his mind.

“How many Horcruxes to you believe the Dark Lord made, Albus?” 

The Headmaster smiled sadly as he looked at Severus over the top of his glasses, and took the time to put the diary away, re-warding the cabinet before answering. “I believe that Tom Riddle would have taken into consideration the fact that seven is the most powerful magical number, and would have split his soul seven ways.”

Severus paled at the thought of the monstrous acts one would have to perform in order to split his soul. “If the ring, the locket, and the diary are three of the pieces, Albus, what did he use to make the other three?”

Dumbledore stroked his hand down his white beard, his own face troubled. “I believe that Harry has already taken care of the fourth Horcrux, Severus, as I had long been suspect of the actions of Nagini, the familiar the Voldemort brought back with him from Albania, where he had hidden for ten years. As for the other two, I suspect one may have been a small cup that originally belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which was stolen from the same owner as the Slytherin locket.” 

Severus nodded, knowing this left one last sliver of soul unaccounted for. Harry’s face rose unbidden in his mind, the lightning bolt scar prominent on his son’s forehead, and he shuddered at the possibility. The words of the Prophecy repeated over and over in his mind: _’And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives’_. 

“Severus?” 

He looked up to find troubled blue eyes examining his face, and wondered if the Headmaster was able to use Legilimens without him being aware of the invasion. “I will speak to Harry this evening, Albus.”

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Harry looked up from the Charms essay he was writing when his father quietly entered the sitting room from his office. The man appeared to be paler that he had been an hour before, and Harry wondered what the Headmaster had wanted to talk to him about. Hermione had left twenty minutes ago, satisfied that they both were able to cast the non-verbal shielding spell they had been practicing, to study for a test in Ancient Runes. Harry had accused her of being a harsher taskmaster than their professors, but the witch had ignored him, seeming to know that he was uneasy about Severus’ meeting, merely giving him a kiss on the cheek before she headed out. 

Hermione had been right. A strange feeling of trepidation had washed through Harry as he watched his study partner cast an elaborate blocking spell that changed color for each level of strength. Although he had not mentioned it, his friend seemed to know that something was bothering him. Now, seeing his father's face before he could school it into a neutral mask, Harry was glad they were alone. Closing his textbook, Harry cast a drying spell on the parchment and slowly rolled it up, setting it on the low table into front of him. His father watched him with unreadable eyes before moving over to sink down on the couch beside him. The fire crackled merrily in the silence.

“If you just start where Professor Dumbledore did, Papa, I’ll try not to interrupt until you are done.”

Severus took a deep breath and began in a low, strained voice. Harry listened in growing horror to the disturbing words that flowed from his father, images of heinous acts, Horcruxes, and artifacts leaping into his mind. The ability of anyone to split their soul for the purpose of immortality was unthinkable, especially when it took something as horrific as the slaughter of innocents to fragment the soul. An act of such pure evil was not something Harry could even contemplate. The significance of the theory and the acts came together as Harry thought back to his second year and the diary that Lucius Malfoy had slipped to Ginny Weasley. At some point in the conversation, Harry found the he had shifted to lean against his father, although whether he was seeking comfort or trying to give it wasn’t clear. 

“Papa? When Ginny had the diary, there were other people who touched it without anything happening.” He looked up. “I even, uh, went into the diary and let Riddle show me what happened the night he framed Hagrid for letting the ‘monster’ loose in the castle. Why didn’t he try to possess me then? Why was it Ginny that he used to do all those things?”

His father shook his head. “I do not have an explanation for you, I am afraid. I would have to speculate that the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle in the diary did not have the knowledge that his older self learned, and therefore established a bond with Miss Weasley first.”

Harry nodded, the explanation made sense. His fingers creased the edge of his father’s sleeve as he waited for whatever was making the older man increasingly restless, wondering if he had done something wrong. Perhaps there was something about the Horcruxes he had misunderstood, Harry thought, as his fingers worried the cloth. His mind immediately made the leap from Voldemort’s slicing of his soul to the powers transferred to Harry that long-ago night in Godric’s Hollow, when he had survived the Killing Curse and received his scar. A frown creased his forehead, distorted the very scar he was thinking of. A hand gently grasped the hair at the back of his head and tilted his face up to meet obsidian eyes that held a glimmer of anger.

“Why must you immediately assume that you have done something wrong, Harry, whenever I seem ill at ease?” His father’s expression softened as he took in the look on his face.

With a shrug, Harry looked down and contemplated his fingernails, trying to suppress his ingrained response. The hand in his hair carded through it reassuringly as they sat there for several minutes, lost in their own silent thoughts. 

“Albus believes we need to check the Chamber of Secrets to make sure it is still properly warded.”

Harry’s head snapped up, and he searched his father’s face for any sign of amusement. There was none. The pronouncement took him completely by surprise, and the terrifying scenes of his last visit to Slytherin’s hidden chamber flashed through his mind. Harry took a deep breath, remembering that the basilisk was dead and there was no homicidal spirit of Tom Riddle waiting there to kill him.

“Just to check, uh, check on things, then?” Harry asked cautiously, his mind whirling.

Severus nodded but offered nothing else, and Harry knew the decision was his to make without being pressured. He closed his eyes and attempted to picture it in his mind, succeeding only in seeing a likeness carved out of rock, a huge monkey-faced statue guarded by stone serpents. Sitting up, Harry turned slightly to face his father catching the worry before the older man could mask it.

“May I ask Ron and Hermione to go with us?” he asked hopefully. 

Severus smiled at him. “I will ascertain from the Headmaster if that is possible, but while I can understand your desire to invite Hermione, I am not sure Mr. Weasley is a good idea.”

“Hermione heard so much about it second year, when she was petrified,” Harry explained, “and Ron was stuck in the tunnel with Lockhart after it collapsed. He never got to see the Chamber itself.”

“I can understand that, Harry, but in light of his recent behavior toward you, I am less inclined to allow him to accompany us.” 

“He’s been loads better since the hols, Papa,” Harry told him, feeling a need to get his father to understand how important it was to have Ron as his friend again. “It wasn’t his fault that someone put a hex on him, and I just want to try to put things right between us again. I’m not sure Ron will even want to go with us, but I would like to ask him anyway.”

His father tugged him back to lean against his side, an arm looped around his shoulders. “I will speak to Albus in the morning, Harry, and see if we can make arrangements. Perhaps it will be what Ronald needs to remind him of the friendship you have shared in past years, but until we discover what is happening with Ginny, I want you to be very careful in what you say or do around her.” 

“I will, Papa.”

 

Sleep was elusive that night for Harry. Instead of slumber, he lay reliving the events of his second year. Ginny had acted nervous, as he remembered, but she had seemed more scared or overwhelmed perhaps, and he had put her behavior down to the crush she had on him. Yet, he remembered her words of comfort last Christmas at Grimmauld Place, when Harry thought he’d been possessed himself, when he’d isolated himself in an attempt to protect them from what he thought were his own actions. Ginny had been very forthcoming about how it had felt to be possessed by Voldemort, the loss of hours of time and coming back to awareness with no memory of how she had gotten there. Surely, if Ginny were being possessed again, she would recognize the similarities immediately. Anyone who knew about the Chamber of Secrets would believe her instantly, Harry thought with a frown. Unless… an idea popped into his mind that caused his chest to seize. Unless Ginny was a willing participant in being possessed again by Tom Riddle, came the troubling thought.

When he finally succeeded in falling asleep from sheer exhaustion, Harry’s dreams were haunted by the image of a huge serpent, not the basilisk of Salazar Slytherin, but the Dark Lord’s familiar, Nagini. The huge snake slithered through his nightmare, her large triangle head, gleaming red eyes, and diamond-patterned tail all highlighted in the red aura that surrounded the four-meter-long body. Forked tongue tasting the air, the foul beast searched for his father, and Harry stood frozen in place, unable to move; unable to save him.

* * *


	33. Chamber Revisited

* * *

Severus Snape frowned at the wizard clock on the wall when he came back in his rooms; it was well after the breakfast hour, but Harry’s hand still read ‘sleeping’. With a sudden feeling of trepidation, the Potions master made his way into his son’s room. He noted the twisted bedcovers that Harry still seemed to be struggling against, and the hint of anxiety emanating from the teenager as his head tossed back and forth on the pillow. The previous night's discussion had led to nightmares for the young man, Severus reasoned without surprise.

“Harry?” He sat down on the bed and shook the teenager’s shoulder gently, not at all prepared when his son launched himself into his arms without waking completely.

“Papa! Papa, Nagini… your arm… I couldn’t move…”

“Ssshhh, Harry, I am right here and I am fine,” Severus said softly as he wrapped his arms around the boy and held him. “It was just a nightmare, son. I am right here with you.”

His face still buried in Severus’ shoulder, Harry slowly relaxed as the older man stroked a reassuring hand down his back. Severus shook his head and grasped the slender shoulder, glad to see that his son finally seemed to have gained some of the weight he needed, and pushed him to arms' length.

“Now, unless there is something else you haven’t mentioned, I think it is time you got up and dressed. We are to meet in the Headmaster’s office after lunch.”

Without the glasses Harry normally wore, his emerald eyes were luminous, every bit as vibrant and intelligent as Lily’s had been. There was a puzzled look in them as Severus sat with his hand still on his son’s arm.

“What is it, Harry?” 

“Nagini was…” frustration furrowed the scarred forehead “… glowing red somehow, like there was an aura around her, I think. It was something that I had forgotten about until now, but it seems like it should be important.”

The description did sound familiar to Severus, but he was more concerned about the dark circles under Harry’s eyes, and about the stress of their upcoming journey. “It will all fall into place when the time comes, son, I have no doubt. Now go get dressed! I will have Dobby bring you some toast.”

Harry nodded and slid out of bed, glad to find his legs steady. Concentrating on the motions of washing and dressing, Harry was relieved to find the throbbing headache he had awoken with was almost gone by the time he joined his father at the same table. The Potions master silently handed him a vial of pain reliever, then went back to sipping his tea as he examined the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. A short stack of buttered toast sat next to his plate, and Harry ate three pieces before draining his goblet of pumpkin juice and leaning back in his chair.

“Papa?”

The older man looked up, giving Harry his undivided attention. “Yes, Harry?”

Harry swallowed nervously. “Do you think there will be anything left of the basilisk down there?”

The dark eyes regarded him steadily. “Actually, from what Albus was telling me of the Chamber, there is every likelihood that the beast will be in the same condition as you left it three and a half years ago. I, for one, would be most pleased if that is the case – the carcass could yield some very rare and powerful potions ingredients.”

The idea that the monster that had attacked children so viciously could be cut up and used for potions somehow struck Harry as funny. He grinned at thought of chopping it into pieces, taking his revenge on the thing that had terrified him so much.

“May I help you harvest what you need, Papa?’

“I would appreciate the assistance,” Severus replied, even though the look he gave Harry indicated he wanted to ask more about his motivation.

Harry finished his breakfast with a small smile, plotting his revenge on the dead serpent. He straightened up his room, finished the Charms essay he had been working on the night before, and then started to read the assigned chapter for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, Harry heard the reassuring scratch of his father’s quill as he graded the tests he had administered on the first day back. Harry snickered as he remembered the groans from the rest of his sixth year NEWTs class, fueled by the colorful outbursts from the Potions master as he read through the some of the more creative answers.

After lunch, Harry returned to his room to change. He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out an old pair of school trousers from the year before. With a critical eye, he held them up, only to find that they would be ridiculously short on him. He threw them to the side. Digging further, Harry was disappointed that he had nothing old to wear down to the Chamber that he would not have to worry ruining. His good mood deflating a bit, he took the oldest pair of jeans he owned, bought just that summer, and trudged towards his father’s room in his pants.

The door was ajar, and Harry pushed it open with his hand. The sight that met his eyes had his words sticking in his throat. His father stood in the middle of his bedroom, his shoulder-length raven hair secured at the nape of his neck, clad in a well-worn pair of denim jeans the same color as the snug long-sleeved pullover he wore. Harry could only stare at the still-young man in front of him. Did all children get this funny feeling in the pit of their stomachs when they realized that their parents were actually human beings? Gone was the greasy git of a Potions master and the man who had become his much loved father; in his place was a handsome wizard, still in his prime. 

“Harry, what is the matter?”

Harry looked up into his father’s dark eyes, and gave him a crooked smile. “Do you have to look quite that good in Muggle clothing, Papa? None of the girls will look at me with you around!”

Severus blinked at him several times before throwing his back and laughing heartily. Harry watched, spellbound, as the laughter animated the older man’s features. A new image supplanted the image of the stern teacher and the robe-clad parent, and he had to grin even as new questions and thoughts surfaced. Had Severus Snape let the bitterness of the decision he had made and been compelled to forget, along with the work he’d done in the first war, isolate and emotionally cripple him for any relationship of his own? Could Harry convince him to open himself to the possibility?

“Shall I set my sights on the comely Miss Granger, my son, and seduce her away from you?” There was a sparkle in the depths of the onyx eyes that went with the teasing tone. “She has grown into quite the fetching lass.”

“Father!” Harry admonished sternly. “Hermione is way too young for you!” 

“Intelligent women appreciate an older man,” the Slytherin countered as he reached out and caught hold of Harry’s shoulders. 

Harry glared up at his father, until he caught the smothered smile. Relenting, he allowed Severus to pull him into a hug. “Find your own girlfriend, would you? Bad enough that I am just a stand-in for someone else anyway,” he grumbled.

Severus patted his shoulder before pushing him to arms' length, and Harry stared at the blue-clad chest. 

“Are you so sure about that anymore?” Finally recognizing his son’s state of dress, or rather, the lack of it, Severus asked, “And is there a reason you are standing in my bedroom in your undergarments?”

Harry held up the jeans in his hand. “I only have these jeans to wear into the Chamber, and I am afraid I will get them dirty.”

“Here,” his father said as he went back to the wardrobe that stood open. He reached in to retrieve another worn pair of jeans. “I have not worn these since just after you were born. This pair might fit you with a little creative spell work.”

Taking the proffered trousers, Harry laid his pair on the four-poster and pulled his father’s on. Amazingly, the jeans fit remarkably well, a little big in the waist and a bit too long, but overall better that he would have suspected. A faded green long-sleeved pullover appeared from the depths of the wardrobe, and the teenager tugged it over his head with a grin. Joining his father at the mirror, Harry was amazed at just how much he resembled Severus dressed this way. The older man slung an arm around his shoulders as they studied each other in the mirror. Harry, still shorter and skinnier, was nevertheless readily identifiable as a Snape. A sense of belonging warmed Harry and radiated to his father through the familial bond they seemed to have developed.

hpsshpsshpsshpss

The youngest Weasley son shifted nervously in a chair at the front of the Headmaster’s desk, and Severus had to scowl in order not to smile at his discomfort. It served the brat right to be uncomfortable after all the grief he had caused Harry of late, Severus thought, even as Albus caught his eye with a frown. Relenting, the Potions master glanced over at his son, who stood tall in the corner of the room watching a new layer of snow blanket the Quidditch pitch, Hermione Granger at his side. A newly hatched Fawkes chirped happily from the bed of ashes on his perch behind the desk. Severus patted his side absently as he watched, making sure the knapsack of harvesting equipment was safe.

A smile played at the corner of his lips as he remembered the young witch’s reaction to their appearance in the Entrance Hall. Severus had not been able to help himself: he had gallantly offered his arm to Hermione after her complimentary greeting, leaving Harry sputtering in their wake as they headed towards the Headmaster’s office. His son’s reaction to the way he looked this morning had surprised him until he realized that the teenager had not had the opportunity to see him in much other than teaching robes and more formal trousers and vests. Most children grew up seeing their parents in various states of dress, but of course, he and Harry had not had that luxury. 

“If everyone is ready?” Dumbledore stepped around his desk with a ratty looking phoenix feather in his hand. Severus just stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the flashy blue and silver robes the headmaster wore. “I have taken the liberty of charming this quill as a portkey, to ease the journey down the to Chamber’s entrance.”

Harry had blanched at the prospect, reminding Severus of his dislike of portkeys. Harry moved to stand close to him, and Severus casually looped an arm around the teenager’s shoulders as they all lined up to lay a finger on the feather. Hermione stood on Harry’s other side, a hand on his arm as Albus activated the spell.

The portkey whisked them to a dim, narrow tunnel deep underneath the castle, depositing them in front of a portal cut into a rock wall. Serpents lined what Severus could only assume was a door. He let go of Harry’s shoulder as he stared at the ornately carved stone. The damp chill seeped into him, and Severus was glad he had insisted they both wear jumpers over their shirts. The teenager moved forward slowly, hissing in what Severus knew was Parseltongue. The door opened, but Harry hesitated for a split-second, enough time for Ron Weasley to take a step forward.

“So this is what it looks like? Brilliant, Harry! Where’s the Chamber, then?”

A grin lit Harry’s face, and he stepped through the doorway with his two friends at his side. In that moment, Severus forgave the redhead all his recent transgressions, grateful for his understanding of Harry’s reluctance to come back to this place of horrors. The Potions master followed the youngsters into the dimness, and Albus fell into step beside him. Footfalls and dripping water were the only sounds; Severus speculated that they were actually under the lake, headed in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest as the group proceeded along the narrow passageway hewn out of the bedrock. 

An eerie green glow emanated from the room before them, and Severus moved closer, so that he was right behind the Gryffindors as they stepped into a massive chamber. The green light flared brighter, and the first thing he saw was the massive stone statue of Salazar Slytherin standing at the opposite end of the cavern like room. The second was the carcass of a basilisk, at least fifteen meters long. Its eyes were a bloody mess, but the rest of the dark green body appeared to be perfectly preserved. 

“Bloody hell, Harry!” came Ron’s heartfelt exclamation. “I know you said it was big, but you didn’t say that it was bigger than the bleeding Knight Bus!”

Severus stepped past the group and closer to the beast, his eyes taking in the dark, discolored area to one side of it, knowing that part of what made that stain was his son’s blood. He circled around the front of the basilisk, unable to believe that, with the help of a phoenix and the sword of Gryffindor, a twelve-year-old boy had destroyed the immense reptile. With a sense of awe, Severus continued to circle, moving around the length of the beast fully, his attention focused on the rich harvest of impossibly rare ingredients. One fang remained, its venom sack intact. The father in him cringed, recalling what had happened to the other fang. With effort, the Potions master redirected his thoughts. Scales, venom, blood, and skin were all powerful ingredients in a number of ancient potions, many designed for healing although a few were more nefarious. Substitutions had been used for years, harvested from other serpents, but they made inferior potions of questionable potency, with a limited range of uses. This basilisk was the first available for harvest in several hundred years, and Severus knew beyond a doubt that he could further the world of medicinal potions with a few well-chosen donations.

Severus pulled the knapsack off his shoulder and opened it to pull out a pair of dragon-skin work gloves. Immersed in his work, mind focused on the best order in which to best the carcass, Severus was oblivious to his surroundings. A hand on his shoulder as he moved to retrieve the magically sharpened cutting tool startled him, and Severus looked up in surprise to encounter serious blue eyes. Albus tilted his head toward the front of the Chamber, where Harry stood near the base of the mammoth statue. His son stood stiffly, the set of his shoulders rigid as his hand reached out hesitantly. Severus caught a faint glimmer of red outlining a door-sized section of the stone.

“Harry! Don’t touch that!”

Severus was across the room without conscious thought, grabbing his son by the shoulders and wrenching him back against his chest.

“Can you see it too, Papa?” There was a look of understanding in the brilliant green eyes.

“I can see the glimmer of something, idiot child, enough to know you should not be touching it!” Severus’ tone was a bit harsh, he knew, but Harry was smart enough to know not to touch!

Harry looked up at him with a slight frown, ignoring the second part of his statement in favor of concentrating on the first. “It looks like there is a red aura around this section of the statue… but it’s a bright red, not the dark red I have seen in the other… things. It’s more like it is leaking out from something behind the stone, like this is an opening of some kind.”

Dumbledore had moved between them and the statue, his wand in hand, as he examined the area Harry had been pointing to. Severus was aware that Hermione and Ron had move to flank them, and they all watched as the Headmaster waved his wand in an intricate pattern. Severus gasped in disbelief as his mentor sliced open the palm of his left hand with the tip of his wand and pressed it to the stone surface. He stepped forward and grabbed the older man’s bleeding hand before Albus pulled away and healed it with a murmured spell.

“Blood wards?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Albus answered distractedly, “and the source of the anomaly in Hogwarts own wards. It is almost as if this is designed to somehow to start a catastrophic failure in them.”

The entire leg of Slytherin's statute slid aside with a great rumble of stone moving on stone. Dark red light spilled out of the space, clashing with the green lighting the Chamber. It appeared to be some kind of an alcove carved into the rock, and Severus could feel Dark magic emanating from inside. It was the same magical signature that he had felt when they had found the Horcrux locket in London, and he shot a look of disbelief at Dumbledore, only to find it steadily returned.

“Well, this is unexpected,” the Headmaster announced cheerfully as he leaned closer to the opening. “Severus, if I could borrow Harry for a few moments while you take the others to help you harvest the remains of the basilisk?”

Harry shot a look at his father, wondering what was going on between the two men, but then he was distracted by the magic he could feel coming from the alcove they had found; it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He hadn't had a chance to tell Hermione and Ron about the Horcruxes yet, his father having just told him about them the night before, but Harry had a feeling they had stumbled on another one. Severus sent him an inquiring look and he gave a slight nod, not sure what else he could do. His father moved by him, squeezing his arm briefly as he ushered Ron and Hermione toward the carcass. With a deep breath, Harry stepped forward to stand beside the Headmaster, getting his first glance into the hidden niche. 

The blood red glow of a spell shimmered just inside the entrance like a translucent curtain. Beyond it, a pool of white light illuminated a small table in the center of a circular space about a meter in circumference. On the iridescent surface of the table sat a gleaming silver snake with bulbous yellow eyes. Resting in its open mouth, held in place by long, thin fangs, was a small golden cup surrounded by a dark red aura. Each of these different colors was a field of magic, Harry saw as he concentrated on them. He traced each field to the point where the edges of the auras overlapped. The red spell field intertwined with the iridescent surface of the table, which in turn seemed to be entwined with the white light that haloed the snake. Harry focused his attention on the snake at the center of the table, examining the fine detail in the sculpture, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up again.

“Harry?" Dumbledore had also been studying the niche. “Tell me, what it is you see there?”

“I believe the different colors are different layers of magic, sir, all overlapping and built onto each other, so that if one of them fails, it will trigger the next one to do something.”

“I agree. I believe it will take three wizards working in perfect unison to deactivate all three of them at once,” the Headmaster said, nodding his head in agreement. "However, even that seems likely to fail somehow, as it would simply be Lord Voldemort who would come down to claim his lost property. I believe we are missing the key piece of the puzzle, my boy.”

Looking up from his scrutiny of the serpent, Harry stared at the venerable wizard until a yelp and a clatter drew his attention. Ron was clutching one hand to his chest. Hermione bent to pick up a silver skinning knife as his father held out a vial of potion that Harry recognized as a wound disinfectant. It appeared that his friend had accidentally cut himself with the knife. Harry’s eyes were drawn back to the rather unique shape of the basilisk’s head and jaw. It was more rounded than the triangular shape of a viper or asp, but not quite the same as a boa constrictor…

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry swung back toward the Headmaster, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his robes. “That is a basilisk on the table! A real one, I think, that will be set free if you take the other spells off!”

The powerful wizard looked from Harry to the silver serpent in the alcove and back again, his left hand stroking the beard at his chin. “You are right, my boy, and that does make sense — only a Parselmouth would be able to get into the Chamber in the first place. The protective fields and charms that are in place are no doubt relatively easy to dismantle, and the component that interacted with the wards seems to have already been removed.”

“As if Voldemort was ready to come get his… property,” Harry muttered quietly, following the line of logic, “or knew that the spell could be used to weaken Hogwarts when he wanted to attack.”

“Indeed,” his father said, his harvesting forgotten as he listened to the conversation. “However, the dismantling of this ward only left a small area of the castle’s protective structure compromised, so I would have to believe that this is either an oversight, or something else is happening.”

“Would there be any other reason that the spells Voldemort left here in the Chamber would weaken on their own?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“Tom Riddle was still a student at Hogwarts, so that is possible, Harry, but not likely. If the spells he left in place stayed solid all the years Voldemort lacked a body, then I would have to think that the weakening of them now is a more deliberate act.”

“So, if the goal was not to weaken the outer wards, which alerted you that something might be wrong,” Harry reasoned, “then it was actually the inner wards around the Horcrux that he wanted to release, and in doing so, he would release another basilisk into the castle.”

“That could very well be exactly what he is trying to do, Harry,” Albus Dumbledore agreed grimly. “And it may not be coincidence that Ginny Weasley is once again acting as she did in her first year."

* * *


	34. Basilisk and Birthday

* * *

Leaving the alcove to the Headmaster’s scrutiny, Harry stepped over to where his father and friends stood, feeling numb. Somehow, the protective fields around what he was sure was another Horcrux had been weakened; they had, in turn, weakened the wards protecting Hogwarts itself. If the wards were not strengthened, then the whole castle could be vulnerable, but if they removed the spells guarding the alcove in order to do so, the basilisk sitting frozen on the table would come to life. The last time he was in this Chamber, Fawkes had come to his assistance, but Harry knew that was impossible today, as the phoenix was recovering from a burning day. Even without discussing it, Harry knew that they would not be leaving this room carved out of bedrock until the problem had been resolved, and the basilisk dealt with.

His father handed him a pair of dragon-skin gloves and a silver dagger, and Harry leaned into the offered warmth for a moment, before gentle hands steered him to a section of hide. Pulling on the gloves, Harry brought the dagger up and began the mindless, but labor-intensive task of harvesting scales carefully off what he was beginning to think of as an over-grown snake. He lost himself in the process, the presence of his father and friends a comforting balm, as he carefully carved out each scale. His mind retreated into itself, as his hands were occupied with the basilisk hide.

“Bloody hell!” Harry stiffened abruptly, a piece of the puzzle his mind had been working on dropping suddenly in place.

“Harry,” his father started to admonish him, but Harry cut him off.

“Yes, yes, language, I know!” Harry waved a glove hand to acknowledge that the man was right. “Professor Dumbledore, Nagini was a Hor—one of those things as well! I remember now that the snake had a red aura around it the night it attacked Papa!”

Dumbledore turned from his scrutiny of the alcove and looked at him, while Ron and Hermione also stopped to listen. His father moved closer as Harry dropped the section of scales he had just taken into the preservation container, and the teenager pulled the glove off his right hand.

“I think I also know the way to deal with the basilisk,” he told them quietly, feeling rather than seeing the Potions master shake his head.

“Parseltongue, my boy?” the Headmaster asked.

“Yes, it seems to be the one protection that Tom Riddle did not think would ever be overcome,” Harry said as he pushed the hair out of his face with his sleeve. “I think the other spells will be easy to remove, but that will set the basilisk free.”

“But Harry, even if you can talk to it, those eyes can still kill you!” Hermione reminded him in a shaky voice.

“I don’t like the idea, either, Albus,” Severus weighed in with his opinion. Harry winced at the edge to his father's voice.

Blue eyes regarded him over the top of half-moon spectacles before sweeping the others quickly. “There are a few flaws inherent in precipitous action, but on the other hand, we have no idea how rapid the effect of this weakened link in the castle's protections will spread through the other wards. I believe we must act immediately to retrieve Hufflepuff’s cup.”

“Professor, how did Voldemort get back into the Chamber after he left Hogwarts?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Headmaster Dippet openly embraced visits from former pupils, often hosting parties for Hogwarts alumni during the Yule festivities. If Tom Riddle had visited in those days, he would have had easy access to the Chamber.”

Harry's forehead creased in a frown. “Professor, what if this isn’t the only thing he has hidden here?”

The blue eyes twinkled at him with a touch of pride, and Harry felt his cheeks heat. “An excellent deduction, my boy! Is there a way that you might query the Chamber as to whether it might be hiding another niche?”

With a nod, Harry stared at the nearest column of entwined serpents. “ _Chamber, show me any secrets hidden within!_ ” 

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then came a great screeching of stone on stone as the round door near the elbow of the giant statue, the place where the basilisk had out of during his second year, opened. Another rumble took him by surprise, though, as it came from one of the serpent columns that lined the passageway to the statue. Whipping around, Harry was not surprised to find his father at his elbow with his wand in his ungloved hand. A small section of the column swung slowly open, and Harry tensed, unsure what to expect. 

Taking a step closer, Harry peered cautiously into the recessed space, but did not see the aura of any type of protective spells. The contents appeared to be in pristine condition, as if dust and spiders had been too intimidated by the Hogwarts founder to despoil this secret niche. Dumbledore moved forward, waving his wand in a complicated pattern over the books and piles of parchment, and Harry watched in fascination as they began to glow green.

“These seem to be authentic works of Salazar Slytherin, not something left behind by Tom Riddle.”

His father gasped, and Harry rolled his eyes as he looked back, bringing a glare to the older man’s face. He could imagine that the Head of Slytherin wanted nothing more than to immerse himself in the books, and Harry did not even want to think of what Hermione would do to join him. At least something positive would come out of this, he thought as he stepped to the side as Severus moved to peer over his shoulder, practically salivating.

“I believe we need to deal with the more pressing matter at hand first, gentlemen,” the Headmaster reminded them quietly.

With a nod, Harry turned back toward Slytherin’s statue, stopping only to tug on his father’s sleeve. Severus followed him, placing both hands on his shoulders as they stood in front of the glowing alcove. Hermione pulled off her thick gloves as she joined them, standing next to Harry as they waited for the Headmaster’s instructions. 

“Mr. Weasley, if you could join us, please, and bring the gloves.”

The redhead looked up from the section of scales he was folding and moved to stand behind Dumbledore, as he was directed. Hermione and Severus flanked the elderly wizard as Harry assumed a position closer to the alcove and off to the Headmaster’s right. He frowned as he peered into the alcove. The white light that pooled on the table and haloed the basilisk seemed to waiver as he watched, and Harry sent a look at Dumbledore, who seemed to be watching the same spot.

“It is time. Severus, I need you to remove the primary barrier at the entrance, while Miss Granger casts a shielding spell that fans out from the opening.” The Headmaster paused until he received a nod of acknowledgement from both. “Harry, I need you to see if you can monitor the layers of magic, especially the strands that you believe tie into Hogwarts' protective fields.”

“Albus!” the Potions master snapped, “I don’t think…” 

“There is no time, Severus, and despite the danger, I believe Harry will be able to maintain them long enough for me to summon the artifact, which Ronald will catch with his gloves. Then I can stabilize the wards while he deals with the basilisk.” 

Harry could feel his father's anger, but both of them knew there was no other way. Tom Riddle could not be allowed to get back into Hogwarts, or create a way for his minions to do it. His wand felt warm in the palm of his hand, and Harry squared his shoulders, his eyes intent on the magic layered in the niche. It seemed that the white aura was weakening and starting to darken more rapidly as he watched.

“Professor, we need to start,” Harry said quietly, keeping his focus on the wards, his wand at ready. 

“ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” Severus Snape said quietly, and Hermione followed with a whispered incantation.

Harry did not attempt to decipher it. He watched the white layer of magic begin to dissolve into black when the red shimmering barrier fell. Without a word, Harry pushed his magic into it, weaving the threads he saw unraveling back together; the pull of the strands was staggering. He heard the Headmaster chant and saw the tiny golden cup shift in the fangs of the miniature serpent, which began to twitch as he continued to hold together the woven strands of magic. As he had feared, the bulbous yellow eyes blinked once, twice, and the basilisk started to turn its head as it struggled to retain its hold on the Horcrux. The cup flew from the alcove towards Dumbledore, and the basilisk reared its head back. The memory of Nagini, her fangs glistening with blood as she attacked his father, flashed through Harry’s mind, and his left hand shot out. 

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ Harry yelled, hardly aware that he had slipped into Parseltongue. 

Yanking his left hand back, Harry magically pulled the frozen serpent out of the alcove and slammed it to the floor. 

" _Smash into a million pieces!_ " He hissed the command without even trying to remember the incantation for a Blasting Curse, and the basilisk shattered as it hit the floor near one of the columns. 

Harry could feel his wand arm begin to tremble under the weight of the protective fields whose magic he still held. A familiar arm reached from behind him to support him, and then Dumbledore appeared at his side to take the majority of the burden from him. He watched as the Headmaster finished weaving magic with a complicated wand motion. The white aura glowed brightly for a moment before it was absorbed back into the bedrock of the Chamber.

“Well done, Harry!”

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Severus scowled at the intricate writing on the parchment in front of him, trying to decipher the archaic Latin. The carefully preserved page of the journal that Severus had brought back from the Chamber seemed to mock him; he found the reading more difficult than any previous studies. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he glanced back down to see the letters writhe like little snakes. Severus blinked and refocused on the unmoving Latin that was meticulously printed across the yellowing parchment. Somewhere in these ancient tomes had to be some mention of how to create, and hopefully destroy, a Horcrux. Sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle had gained that information somewhere, and Severus agreed with Albus that the most probable source was the writing of Salazar Slytherin. It was the only likely place that an antiquated piece of Dark magic might have been retained, as there was little knowledge of soul-splitting in the present day. With a shake of his head, the Potions master gently closed the journal and locked it in the heavily warded bottom drawer of his desk. Only Albus or Harry would be able to break the protective fields, he knew, but its presence was still worrisome. 

Standing, Severus stretched to loosen the muscles in his back. It was a bit early to close his office, but no one had come by that afternoon, and dinner was only a half hour off. A nice cup of tea before he went up to the Great Hall would improve his mood, and an analgesic would remedy the headache he felt developing. Harry was studying with Hermione and Ron in the library, thus leaving their rooms to Severus. It was a relief that his son felt rested enough to attend classes, as the incident in the Chamber had left him drained. It was not until after Harry had required assistance reaching his bedroom that Albus saw fit to tell him Harry had been burdened by the entire magical weight of the Hogwarts' wards as they started to fall. It seemed Tom Riddle had used Dark magic to weave the protective field surrounding the Horcrux into very fiber of the main wards. 

The following morning, Severus had declared that the son he had created with Lily and James Potter would have been a challenge to all three parents together, had the couple lived. The usually amenable young man had proven to be a handful, steadfastly refusing to stay in bed, even though he was still exhausted. Despite the pinched face and dark circles under Harry's eyes, amount of pleading or cajoling would convince the teenager. Severus had insisted the teenager take a _Pepper-up Potion_ before class, but allowed him to go against his better judgment. True to the promise he had made to Severus, Harry had been in bed early the past two nights, and had finally appeared rested this morning. 

When he stepped through the door into his chambers, Severus was surprised to find Harry sitting quietly on the couch, reading. The teenager looked up and smiled, setting his book to the side.

“I thought you were studying,” Severus said, moving toward his chair and the comfort it promised.

“I finished my essay early.” There was an apologetic look on Harry’s face as he stood. “Professor Dumbledore said he’d like to see us in his office before dinner.”

The groan escaped before Severus could stop it, and he could not blame Harry for laughing at his dismay. After a trip to the loo to freshen up and secure the headache potion, Severus joined his son and they walked towards the gargoyle in companionable silence. The Bloody Baron inclined his head in acknowledgement as the pair crossed the Entrance Hall. A low rumble of voices carried from the Great Hall, where students had begun to gather for dinner. A distinctive blond head appeared briefly in the far doorway before disappearing again. 

“Malfoy is still disappearing into the Room of Requirement at odd times.” 

Severus shook his head as they started up the marble staircase. “The arrogant little prat is up to something.” 

The burst of laughter from his son made Severus smile. “I thought you and his father were old friends.”

“No,” Severus told him honestly, “we were never friends. Lucius was a seventh-year when I started at Hogwarts, a privileged pureblood whose family supported the notion that magic should be reserved for the purest alone. I was a half-blood, and while the Prince family was a pureblood family similar to the Malfoys and the Blacks, Lucius was well aware that my father was a Muggle. He had little use or time for the odd little first-year I was, especially with my heritage.”

Harry brushed his fingers along Severus’ sleeve in sympathy, and he was reminded again his son's tender heart. “I thought, well, especially after he gave those brooms to the Slytherin team second year…”

“As much as I would have liked to deny that bequest, dear Lucius seemed to feel I needed to prove my loyalty to him in the absence of the Dark Lord, and being on the Board of Governors added to his insistence that he provide only the best for his son’s and his teammates. Rest assured, I was never one of his circle of friends, only a useful tool to him when the time was right. In fact, it was not until my fifth year that my potions abilities became known to his master, who sent Lucius to me as an emissary.” 

Severus vividly remembered the day the Malfoy eagle owl had soared into the Great Hall with an invitation to meet in Hogsmeade the following weekend. It had prompted one of the worst rows he had ever had with his cousin, one that had required Lily’s intervention to get the two speaking once again. James had known exactly why Malfoy wanted to see him, and had been completely against Severus going. Sirius Black had been the only one who enjoyed the two being at odds, and Severus winced as he remembered Harry having witnessed the fight that culminated in his worst memory. Looking back, he could scarcely believe how stupid he had been, how gullible. It had not taken long for Lucius to recruit the naïve boy he had been with promise of power and belonging, helped in no small measure by several of own his mother’s relatives, the Prince family being similar to the Blacks in their beliefs. 

Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand, and Severus saw that they were approaching the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office. 

“I’m sorry, Papa, I did not mean to bring up unpleasant memories,” Harry said softly. 

"I do not expect that every question about my past practices will be easy to understand or discuss, but I will attempt to provide you with honest answers when you ask,” Severus told him quietly. 

They rode up the stairs in silence, and Severus was surprised to find the door at the top ajar. Harry pushed it open and stepped inside; Severus followed, stopping as he caught sight of the occupants. Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall, and Remus Lupin stood on the far side of a round table . Hermione Granger moved to greet Harry as he moved around the table, which was laden with food. A platter of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding with gravy and vegetables, and roasted potatoes sat waiting, making Severus realize that he had little for lunch and no afternoon tea.

He looked at the Headmaster, gaily clad in plum robes, with Fawkes perched on his shoulder. “Albus?”

“Happy birthday, my boy.”

hpsshpsshpsshpss

Harry thought the stunned look on his father’s face was priceless. The man had forgotten his own birthday! Hermione snickered beside him as they watched the Potions master’s colleagues congratulate him. They both stood quietly behind their chairs as they waited for the adults to sit down, his father between Harry and the Headmaster. The dinner was delicious, and the conversation around the table was concentrated on House rivalries and the Quidditch cup, with no mention made of the unpleasant state of the outside world. Harry enjoyed himself for the first time since Christmas dinner, allowing the discussion to flow around him as the Head of Gryffindor disagreed vehemently with the Head of Slytherin. His father’s favorite, Spotted Dick, as well as trifle, was served for afters, and Harry leaned back in his chair, his stomach full. A warm hand slipped into his, and he looked over to seen Hermione lean a bit towards him. 

“Malfoy was lurking around the second floor staircase again when I came up,” she whispered in his ear. The warm breath caused his skin to tingle.

Harry turned his head quickly, brushing his lips across her cheek before pulling back slightly at her wide-eyed expression. His mouth quirked, and Harry felt his cheeks heat at his father’s snicker of amusement, but he stayed close enough to whisper.

“I think I saw him lurking in the Great Hall when we came up,” Harry told her, ”but I saw him disappear into the Room of Requirement yesterday afternoon.”

“Where is the Map?”

A soft chime interrupted their whispering, and Harry looked at his father, who frowned at the sound. The chime came again, causing Fawkes to flap his wings and trill nervously.

“It is the monitoring charm I placed on Miss Weasley,” Albus Dumbledore said quietly, his face serious, before looking at Harry. “Where is that delightful Map of yours, Harry?”

Harry shot a guilty glance at the Potions master, as he knew he was in for a lecture. “In my book bag, in my room, sir.”

One hand stroked through his white beard as the Headmaster studied his face, and Harry hurriedly checked the barriers protecting his mind, more out of habit than anything. His papa was going to flay him when he realized that Harry had been tracking Draco Malfoy again with the Marauders Map.

“Can you summon it through the Floo, please, my boy?” 

Hermione patted his arm as he scooted his chair back and walked over to the fireplace. Taking a pinch of powder from the small golden pot on the mantle, Harry knelt on the rug and tossed it into the flames.

“Severus Snape’s quarters!”

When the flames flared green, Harry stuck his head into them, keeping his eyes and mouth tightly closed until the spinning sensation stopped. With a nonverbal summoning charm, his book bag flew from his room and into the fireplace. Ducking away from the heavy bag, he grabbed it as it brushed his shoulder, and would have fallen if Remus Lupin had not moved to catch him. 

“All right there, Harry?” The Defense Against the Arts teacher asked, a smile on his face as he glanced between Harry and his father.

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Harry told him as he righted himself. He moved to the space at the table that his father had cleared, sneaking a look at the man from under his fringe.

“You may relax.” His father smirked at him as he reached to take the bag from him. “I will refrain from beating you until we are in a more private setting.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he did feel some of the tension leave him when he realized that the older man did not seem angry. Retrieving the parchment from under his Charms book at the bottom of his bag, Harry quickly spread it on the table. He tapped it with his wand.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

Professor McGonagall gasped as the map of Hogwarts formed on the parchment, but Harry was already scanning the map, trying to make out names from the multitude of flags moving outward from the Great Hall. Hermione materialized on one side of him, as his father scanned from the other, with Remus stooping over them to get a view. The bushy-haired witch snorted and Harry looked over to see her finger stabbing at two flags that seemed so close together that they overlapped: _Ronald Weasley – Lavender Brown_

“There!” his father exclaimed. “There she is!”

All the eyes in the room followed his fingertip as the flag labeled _Ginny Weasley_ moved along the seventh floor corridor that Harry recognized immediately as being the location of the Room of Requirement. As the seven of them watched, Ginny suddenly vanished from the map, and was immediately followed by the disappearance of a second flag, _Draco Malfoy_. 

“Bloody hell!” muttered Severus Snape, and Harry knew exactly how he felt.

* * *


End file.
